


Bend Before You Break

by Confused_q



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_q/pseuds/Confused_q
Summary: Soare Martel, Oberyn's only legitimate daughter, is entrusted with mindful vengeance for House Martell. She spends an unfortunate amount of time away from home to find it."Our families have unfortunate and horrid pasts, its up to us to make better futures."There's nothing like a little heartbreak to remind you it's still beating.I'm starting to think that I was the poison all along.
Kudos: 1





	1. Face Claims

Anthony Ramos as Daemos Fowler

_the long lost friend_

"Southerners have never been this far north, certainly not Dornishmen"

Avan Jogia as Durand Qorgyle

_the pragmatic protector_

"I have orders to protect you. And your father is not a man to disappoint."

Quincy Fouse as Ulvar Sand

_the auspicious soldier_

"We're going on a great adventure, are you sure it's worth it?"

Chloe Bennet as Lady Elyane

_the lost love_

"I was no one before I came to Sunspear, I fear I wouldn't be someone again."

Yara Shahidi as Sarella Sand

_the wanderlust sister_

"There is always more to the world then living your life for Dorne. Don't be terrible."

Ashley Moore as Soare Martel

_the broken crown_

"Their suns have set and I can barely remember them shining."

And one of our favorites:

Pedro Pascal as

**Oberyn Martell**

_'Tell me what is your plan? I hope it is a good one. I will need well reason to agree with it.'_

_Oberyn was ever the viper. Deadly, dangerous, unpredictable. No man dared tread on him.  
_

Alexander Siddig as

**Doran Martell**

_I was the grass. Pleasant, complaisant, sweet-smelling, swaying with every breeze. Who fears to walk upon the grass? But it is the grass that hides the viper from his enemies and shelters him until he strikes._

And hopefully better writing for the Sand Snakes.

Indira Varma as

**Ellaria Sand**

_Bastard of Hellholt, The Serpent's Whore_

_I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?  
_

_She understood more than you ever will, Nymeria. And she made your father happy. In the end a gentle heart may be worth more than pride or valor. Be that as it may, there are things Ellaria does not know and should not know. This war has already begun.  
_

Keisha Castle-Hughes as _  
_

**Obara Sand**

' _Girl or boy, we fight our battles,' he said, 'but the gods let us choose our weapons.' He pointed to the spear, then to my mother's tears, and I picked up the spear._

Jessica Henwick as

**Nymeria Sand**

_Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father._ **  
**

Caitlin Stasey as

**Tyene Sand**

_Forgive me if I gave offense; my heart is broken all to pieces._ **  
**

_Lady Tyene's voice was gentle, and she looked as sweet as summer strawberries. Her mother had been a septa, and Tyene had an air of almost otherworldly innocence about her.  
_

Rosabell Laurenti Sellers as

**Elia Sand**

_If I was to wait for your justice, Uncle, I'd be your age when you finally finish things._


	2. 01- Leaving

My father is well known for being passionate, he wouldn't have as many children if he wasn't. And like the stereotypes, dornishmen tend to be hot headed and vengeful. It's why he hasn't left Dorne since Robert's Rebellion. 

He and Doran are planning something, I know it. They have to be. For father to be angry for so long and ill-tempered towards the idea of Lannisters; it can't be for nothing.

Revenge.

Vengeance for their fallen sister and her children. I know it's important, and that it's probably treason. But playing nice with the crown has never gotten us anywhere. 

Whatever it is, its top secret because Ellaria doesn't know. And that woman swears she knows everything. Or at least everything father knows, she thrives on the belief that they have a hive mind.

My sisters have all the time in the world to do what they want and when they wish it. As much as I envy their freedom, I can't help but feel honored that Doran thinks me good enough for a back-up plan. He took me under his wing soon after Ellaria arrived, and the Water Gardens starting feeling to... crowded.

On top of our dear father, the Red Viper, teaching us all to wield weapons seamlessly; Uncle tries to teach me politics and how to rule. I think I'm all he has at the moment. Arianne is visiting her mother for an extended stay, her own form of rebellion. Quentyn is fostering at Yronwood, paying for father's mistakes and eons worth of bad blood. And poor Trystane is only a child with ten years to his name.

I remember when I was nine and Doran had first told me that I had been made fourth on his list of successors. I was so confused as to why the line went right over my father and my four older sisters. 'Their temper would get the better of them'; eight words was all it took to put distance between us sand snakes. And I was already in hot water over being legitimized.

Obara didn't seem to care too much, citing that no one ever loves those in charge anyway. Sarella and Nym have it stuck in their heads that I want to be better than them for some reason. And Tyene is usually too busy body-hunting to really care and she's generally too kind to hold a grudge against kin.

There is always some dispute, some argument, some war between the northern kingdoms; the lot of them fighting like children over who gets to claim what. And Dorne always stays quiet.

Or do we?

The unassuming and the often overlooked are always planning. The quiet breeds a chance for better strategies and undoubtable schemes.

My cousin Manfrey says that _'a loud man shouts for today while a quiet man thinks for tomorrow'._

Today's war is one of Starks and Lannisters, of lions and wolves.

Dorne has announced its neutrality, but don't expect that to mean we're actually neutral.

And pledging support isn't enough, we're going to offer a hand in marriage. My hand. So here I am packing up to ride to Robb Stark's battle camp.

Arianne is too old and completely unwilling, and I'm the only legitimized daughter of Oberyn's. A raven can get intercepted or end up in the wrong hands; so I get to be potentially rejected to my face, _fun._

Father's not pleased with the idea of selling me off like cattle, especially not to the North. In truth the closest Martells have ever been to the Starks, other than tournaments, is probably when Rhaegar took Lyanna.

Bad blood adjacent, I'd say.

But everyone is fond of the chance to fight a Lannister, so I pack.

I'm leaving with a handmaiden and two guards, small enough to go unnoticed but I'll still be protected. For the sake of secrecy, I'm not dressing in royal garb and no one is to wear Martell colors.

"You know, you can say no?" Father reminds me from my doorway.

"I'll miss you too." A thin lace of sarcasm on words, not even looking up from folding gowns. "You've wanted to be a thorn in the Lannisters side since forever; aren't you proud I'm making it happen?"

"Proud of you giving up your freedom for a cause you know nothing of? No, why would I be?"

"They could say no, I could leave the marriage. I'm not giving up anything, and I'm certainly not going to let some wolf boy run my life." I acknowledge him standing with a look I can't quite determine, it's not disappointment but it isn't pride either.

"Doran has gotten inside your head, you'd do anything he'd ask." he grumbles, pushing himself from the door frame and further into my room, glancing at what I've chosen to take with me.

 _"Not true._ I hated the idea for weeks. I still don't _like_ it, but it's smart. Dorne can't take on the crown or the Lannisters itself. We'd need to make an alliance anyways."

"But does it have to be you?" He lets out an exhausted sigh, as if he'd had this conversation many times before. "From the moment he naturalized you, I knew you'd never be completely mine anymore. I hate his reasoning for naturalizing you, for taking you from me, involving you in his schemes. But you have a mind for politics, you'd have been involved on your own."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment" He pulls me into a hug, kissing my head and rubbing my back.

"Oh, my sweet girl" He pulls back getting a final look at me. "You're bringing knives with you, yes? The kingsroad is a dangerous place and this is war." He pulls a well-shined scabbard holding a curved dagger from his belt. "The blade was made in Yi Ti. I bought it from your mother. I think it best you take it with you."

"You're arming me with daggers to go get married?" A bad jest to try and hide my sorrow over leaving.

Without missing a beat. "Exactly. Save It for the Stark boy"

"What am I going to do? _Stab_ him?" That would go over well; ' I've come to make an alliance', _knife to the spleen_.

"You can if he tries to touch you" As incredulous as that is, he's completely serious. "I know you're more than capable of defending yourself. But if that boy... If you ever want out, I'll rescue you. You know that. Besides the Snakes would love a good fight."

"Obara, maybe. But I don't think they like me that much."

"Petty. They love you, Dorea's crushed you won't be reading to her anymore."

"Are they seeing me off?" I know they aren't. A send off after dinner? They've either found someone to entertain for the night or the little ones are being put to bed.

"We can't make this a big deal. It's not as if we'll never see each other again"

"I know." I let out a sigh. I can already feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. I'm pulled in for one last hug before I leave my home.

"I love you, Soare Martell, my darling girl. And don't you forget it."


	3. 02 - The Journey Ahead

** The Journey Ahead **

We were a week out from where the stark camp was known to be. One of my guards, Ulvar, was scouting ahead at a tavern to get any and all gossip on Stark or Lannister movements. Durand, a man of 26, hand-picked by my father, often showed his discontent with riding north.

"I haven't a clue why you agreed to this, my lady. Dorne is giving much for this _alliance._ And what do the Starks of Winterfell have that we want?" Before I could attest to the political wealth such a merging could bring, Ulvar comes trotting around the corner with a disheartened look on his face.

"Do you want the bad or the good first?"

"Surprise me?" I had known Ulvar for a few years now, he had joined the castle guard when he was 15. We had known each other well, it's why we no longer sparred with each other, wasn't a fair fight. I could tell it wasn't going to be good news, but how bad could it be? It quickly spread that the Kingslayer had been captured at the Whispering Woods. So what could be wrong?

"We know where they are, and given the circumstance, I think the northerners are more likely to support a more... vengeful demise for the Lannisters."

"Ulvar, what happened? Did they do something to one of those girls?"

"There hasn't been a sighting of Arya in days, the people believe they've lost her. The worst of the news from the capital is of Eddard Stark. They've beheaded him as a traitor."

"Oh dear Gods, they probably made them watch didn't they? This isn't about just Tywin anymore, they're all monsters." What was anyone expecting? The boy king's own grandfather had babes killed in front of their mother.

"Practicing to win over your husband?"

"We're losing time, and this is not the time for jests, _Ser._ " Elyane, my outspoken handmaiden reminding us all that we had places to be and no time quarrel over gossip, however sad it may be. "We've been riding for a month, I would like to remember what a bead feels like, eventually"

**...**

To the dismay of Elyane, the group comes upon the aftermath of Oxcross rather than the battle camp. "I'm beginning to hate the look of war, all this death."

"Then you're probably serving the wrong Martell. Something tells me we won't be going to far from scenes like this any longer." In the distraction of dead men and screams of the wounded, I almost miss an aged noble man coming towards us, sword raised. The closer he gets the more Stark men join him.

"In the name of King Robb of house Stark, state your purpose or meet my blade"

"I wouldn't advise making threats like that, old man" The ever arrogant Durand, already wishing for a fight. I give a sharp look his way, as Ulvar moves his stead next to mine.

"No need for a fight, we are no spies. We've not come to harm you, friend." I try to appear confident despite the very real fact that I have no idea what I'm doing.

"What have you come to do?" A man, boy really, maybe a year older than me, made his way to the front of the group.

"I presume you to be Lord Stark?" Ulvar speaks up giving me a chance to decide if I should spill now or not.

"That's _King_ Robb to you" The man I assume to be Lord Bolton sneered back.

"Our apologies, we have no kings in Dorne." I give up our origin in the hopes that they see no threat and lower their swords.

"You have the honor of being graced by Princess Soare of the great house Martell. If you bear steel against my lady again-"

"I am an envoy of Crowned Prince Duran, we've come to bargain." Quick to cut off Durand's threat.

"Dorne has declared its neutrality." The freshly crowned king gives me a look of confusion and curiosity.

"I think you'll find that actions speak louder than words."

"What actions might those be?"

"You've hated the Lannisters for a year, We've hated them for almost twenty. The South and the North, the Lannisters right in the middle, where could they hide?"

At that the Stark boy smiled. "You should follow us back to camp"


	4. 03 -Fond Opinions

“And why are you trusting southern whores?”

“How do you know they're not spies?”

“Maybe Dorne’s joining the war for themselves”

The lords of Robb’s war council continued to voice their distrust, completely forgetting I was in the room. The ruckus they were causing was as annoying as it was entertaining. I was trying my best to keep Durand from unleashing his own words on the subject. Ulvar kept giving me apologetic looks at every obscenity I, and by extension Dorne, was receiving. I was quietly waiting for the ogres of men to simmer down. I was also curious to see how ‘The King in the North’ treated potential allies.

“Lady Martell has come in good faith to offer aid, which she could just as easily give our enemies. We ought to hear her out.” He gave a stern look out to his bannerman, all experienced and twice his senior.

“Thank you for the  _ kind _ words gentlemen. The Martells have never made it as far as north as Winterfell and few Starks have made it as south as Sunspear. Our lands have no quarrel with each other.”

“We should keep it that way” A disembodied voice from the back of the room ever so gracefully interrupted me.

“As much as you'd like to, you can't win this war alone. You have half the numbers of the combined Lannister force. Stanis or Renly could move inland at any point. You'll start starving if you take on any more prisoners. And you've left Winterfell seemingly unprotected.”

“You've come here to mock us girl? Dorne hasn't fought in a war in years” Lord Bolton remarked. “And you lost at the Trident”

“Doran’s forces were purposefully late, and by the time they'd arrived my aunt was dead. There wasn't a point in fighting anymore.”

“So that's what you're offering us? Quitters?”

“Is that what you call picking your battles wisely? We've had reason to rebel for years, but we better than to start a war when the country wasn't ready for it.”

“And why is that time now?”

“No one cared about my aunt’s death, no one cares about Dorne in general really. The whole damn country cared about your aunt. The smallfolk matter more in this kind of war then your own soldiers do sometimes. They hate Joffrey, they hate the Lannisters. They rejoice at the death of mad kings. A rebellion is doomed if the populous likes their king.”

“Why not rebel on your own?” Robb finally addresses me, after first opening the discussion.

“For the same reason your bannerman hate me. None take Dorne seriously. Whether its my father’s reputation, Duran’s presumed weakness, or the fact that we've stayed quite all these years. Everyone’s assumed we've given up.”

“What are your terms?”

“Good trading relations, open borders, and a marriage when this is over”

“What are you offering?”

“25 ships should you need them, provisions enough for twice your men, our best Dornish Red, and 25 thousand fighters.” He didn't seem to hate what was offered, so that's always a good sign. “I’ll give you time to think it over with your men.”

Ulvar, Durand, and I left the war tent and barely got in a word to each other when Elylane, who had waited outside, ran up to us. “Your Father sent a raven, it just found me as you went in.” I took the scroll from her hand carefully reading every word.

“The Lannisters don't know I’m here. Tyrion is trying to marry Trystane to Myrcella. And even if Doran agrees, he won't forsake me. He wants to wait it out more, though. Apparently both Baratheons are going to field in a few days.”

“Well, that's good right? Less competition?”

“That's more than good, Ulvar. If Stanis and Renly take each other out, Dorne can take the Stormlands.”

“Rand, if Dorne takes the Stormlands we are in open war with the crown. We can't do that without knowing we have support. And if we send men to take the Stormlands the Tyrells will cut us off, we can't defend to places at once.”

“But we’ll have a Lannister hostage”

“She's the same age as Elia, and we don't hurt little girls in Dorne.”

“I’m not saying we would Soare, doesn't mean we cant use the situation to our advantage.”

I sigh, knowing he has a point. I find the nearest fire to burn the letter, wishing I could keep the parchment with my father’s handwriting on it. 

“Could I take your Lady on a walk?” Robb strides towards our southern group. “Or are you going to threaten me?” He chides Durand. Ulvar gives me a questioning look as the other two men stare each other down.

“I’ll be quite alright. I’ll come find you when I’m done.” With that Ulvar gives me a small bow of his head and links his arm with Elyane as the two head off to find whatever spot was cleared for us. “That means you too, Durand. I’ll make sure Father knows you never left me unprotected.”

He gives Robb a final glare as he stalks off muttering something along the lines of ‘I don't like him’.

“Quite the guard dog you have.”

“Martell woman don't fair well outside of Dorne. Durand is just doing the job my Father asked of him.”

“The Red Viper. That's not a name you'd give a family man.”

“You'd be surprised. Every child he's fathered he offers support, even if they don't want to live with him. His brood of bastards, we come from all over.”

“My brother Jon’s a bastard. I can't imagine what his life would be if he wasn't raised with us.”

“Depends on who his mother is. Although from what I’ve heard I don't believe yours was ever kind to him.”

“I don't agree with it, but he's a reminder that my father cheated.”

“Ellaria, my father paramour, is only the mother to four of us. And yet she loves us all. She looks at us an all she sees is Obeyron, she couldn’t be ill to someone who means so much to him.”

“Dorne is very different. How would our men get along long enough to fight with and for each other?”

“Because we’d ask them to. And we have common rivals. I can't speak for your men, but every dornishmen shares the same hatred of lannisters as their liege lords.” He paused for a minute taking in my words before replying.

“I’m not saying I’ve agreed to anything yet, but you asked for a marriage and I’m already promised to a Frey girl.”

“As I’m sure your lords told you, kings can take second wives. More importantly, I said a marriage. That didn't necessarily mean to you.”

“Bran and Rickon are too young.”

“Didn't mean that either.”

“Jon?” He answered almost dumbstruck that I even hint at such a thing.

“I’m needed to stay in Dorne in case the crown falls to me. In such case the Martell name would need to live on. And as we've discussed bastards aren’t treated as poorly in Dorne.”

“He's a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch.”

“You're King, you can pardon him”

“Even then, I’m not marrying him off without his approval.”

“If you don't want a second wife, and you won’t at least ask your brother… I don't know what you want me to say. Dorne makes deals through marriages, it's the only way we do things without people rebelling.” I leave him to think of his options and walk towards a tent I saw Elyane walk into a mere minute ago.


	5. 04 - An Agreement of Sorts

No word of an alliance has left camp, but it hasn't been spoken of much either. I was hoping my fears were not true; the ‘Young wolf’ needs his mother’s assistance and approval on all business matters. But the Lady Catelyn isn't here, and a decision hasn't been made.

As if on cue, Elyane and Ulvar enter the small tent that used to belong to one of the northern soldiers. 

“Come to give me company? To save me from wondering what the hell I’m still doing here?” I can hear some commotion outside, perhaps we’re no longer at a stalemate. “What has been going on out there? Are they all more drunk than usual?”

“I think they're fighting about killing the Kingslayer. I heard that Lady Catelyn arrived a few days ago”

“She was said to be treating with Lord Renly”

“Why are we gossiping? More importantly, why weren’t we introduced when she arrived, days ago? It’d be proper to greet the Lady of Winterfell after such a ride. We don't want her to think us rude.” I stand, with Elyane and Ulvar at my side as we make our way towards the war tent. Well aware of the looks Durand is giving the wandering eyes of soldiers, from the rear of our group.

As we approach the tent I can hear the words Catelyn Stark has to say regarding us Southerners.

“We could use the men, mother”

“Her house fought against your father, for all we know they might blame us for what happened to that girl. You know how they operate in Dorne; any marriage made would never be faithful.” 

However used to the gossip and stereotypes of my ‘foreign’ lands I may be, I never imagined to be called a whore by a woman with daughters of her own. 

“I’m glad you fare well, Lady Catelyn. Dorne sends its deepest condolences, we too know the cost of war.” I’m almost shocked his guards don't stop me from barging in. I don't give her time to fake an apology. “Pardon my tardiness, I hadn’t heard of your arrival until today. I heard you rode from the Stormlands; how are the Baratheons?”

“Lord Renly has died.” Catelyn admits, trying her best to hide the shock and disdain of my entrance.

“How oftly convient. Before Renly has a chance to be proven on field, he dies. Stanis gains his men, and the Tyrell army swiftly exists the war.”

“Are you accusing Stanis of killing his own brother?”

“I’m not accusing anyone; I don't know the details. Simply pointing towards the farce of the accidental nature.”

“What does Dorne have for siding with the North?” I can already tell that I may never win this woman over.

“Honestly, most of the motive is vengeance. Lord Tywin Lannister ordered the death of my aunt and her children, we’ve been bitter ever since.” I pause knowing that none know the complete truth of what happened to Elia Martel. “To calm any concerns, you'd have to be an imbecile to blame a pretty girl for the actions of her kidnapper.”

“I meant no offense”

“No one ever does.” I brush off her guilt, knowing she doesn't need anymore of it. “I’m guessing you won't be receiving support from Stanis?”

“And of what matter is that to you?”

Feigning offense, “Dorne has been fighting border wars with the Storm Lands for centuries. If their position is weakened, I need to know If I’m fighting them or not.”

“You haven't even sent men  _ here _ ”

“Despite my presence, we've made no alliance. Hands have not been shook, oaths have not been made.” I would love nothing more than to go home. But, without a formal rejection, I’m stuck dealing with these infuriating and ignorant men.

“Robb is promised to another.” Catelyn, ever the she-wolf. I wonder what it would be like to have a mother, I wonder if she would speak on my behalf with as much rigor.

“As I’ve heard. Someone she tell the nurse.”

“Watch your tongue”

“Or  _ what _ ? You even t _ hink _ of doing anything and my father’s at your doorstep. You can't beat Dorne you haven't even  _ dented  _ the Lannisters.”

“You threatening me with war?”

“Simply reminding you, are people aren't friends yet”

“If they're anything like their Lady, I don't think they'd get along well.”

“Lady Catelyn, forgive me. I arrived when you weren’t here, allow me to explain my treatment since then. I’ll forgive Lord Bolton for drawing his sword towards me; he hadn’t yet known my name. I was guided back to your camp and brought in front of your lords. Where they promptly  _ degraded _ Dorne  _ and _ my purity to their heart's content. Giving your son the benefit of the doubt, I  _ still _ offered aid and support. I gave Duran’s terms and  _ none _ have spoken of the matter since.” I took a deep breath, giving everything I have to not be angry. “So, pardon me if I’m tired of being tolerant and humiliated.”

“I’m fighting a  _ war  _ for the  _ North _ . I don't have time to discuss every one of your whims.” At least Robb was as irritated as I was, granted for a different reason.

“No time for Dorne, but you can send your mother to Renly.”

“We are not going to solve things by fighting amongst each other. Surely after the Crag surrends, we can come to an agreement benefiting both our realms?”

“And what was wrong with the terms I set? I understand you don't like me, Catelyn. And that neither of you know me, or much of Dorne for that matter. But, you don't have the time or the resources to wait for someone else.”

“Why are you pushing so hard? Is there something you have planned?”

“Why are you so quick to judge, Stark. If I wanted to bring harm to Winterfell, I would have done so already. And it would have been more successful than the Greyjoy’s.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You might not tell me anything, but you camp is not quite. I’ve heard there's no word on your brothers; better they'd be lost instead of dead.” I sighed, not knowing what I’d do if Dorea and Loreza were lost. “You need someone you trust to take back your home, but you can’t spare the men. Tywin wants to wait you out, he won’t give you field. And none of this helps you get back your sisters.”

“I know that”

“Then let me help you. Let Dorne help you. Surely you know by now, my cousin is engaged to Myrcella-”

“So you fight for the Lannisters”

“We've sent no men to their cause. And by that assumption, they've dismissed us. Tywin doesn't know I’m here. If we marched against them it’d be a surprise; they'd be stuck between the south and the north, nowhere to run.”

“And what, the Dornish army is just going to march to King’s Landing and demand my sisters safe return?”

“Dorne has earned a seat on the small council, Obeyron is going to take that spot. He knows what it's like to worry over your children, he’ll smuggle those girls out.” I send a reassuring gaze towards the mother in the room.

“He can’t bring them here!”

“I know, that’d be to dangerous. And my father leaving the Crownlands going west would be suspicious.”

“You're not taking my girls to Dorne”

“They'd be safe. The only trouble would be my sisters refusing to leave them alone. We don't hurt little girls in Dorne.”

“You’ve made your point. I’m leaving for the Crag in the morning, when I return we’ll make things official.” I shook his outstretched hand, pleased that I’d been heard and could now write home of my accomplishment.

I excused myself and left Robb to his mother, whom probably wasn’t pleased. I was greeted outside the royal tent by Ulvar and Elyane waiting patiently, and Durand casually tossing a dagger around.

“You do realise that no one is  _ ever _ going to trust me with you doing  _ that, _ right” 

“How did it go? Does the Lady like you?”

“Elly, if I’m being honest, I think she may well hate me.” I link our arms as we walk the camp; both men following us from a distance, probably conversing themselves.

“Well, she just doesn’t know you yet. You're one of the most caring people I know. You're heart is as big as your head.”

“You're only saying that because you've slept with me.”

“Past tense. I don’t anymore,  _ we _ don’t anymore. I hate to admit that you were right. This would all be so much harder if I hadn’t given you up yet.” She looked starry-eyed, as if was no longer here, but there, back then.

“I remember. I hate being right, I hate how you felt. I wish to never see you that broken again. But, we shouldn’t talk of such things”

“You're right, Robb’s men already distrust you as a southerner, no need to add you taste of bedfellows to the gossip”

“I meant that we shouldn’t be making each other sad.” a genuine smile graced my lips.

“Speaking of sad, I hope things go well with that Stark boy. I’m getting tired of being the only Dornishmen in this dreadful place.”

“Do I not count?” A flabbergasted Ulvar shots back, not realising an argument would be started. 

Elyane and I prepare for bed, snickering as we can still hear the two arguing. I doubt either of them will win any time soon.


	6. 05 - Futures Pending

I haven't talked with Lady Stark much, although I’m fairly certain that’s her doing. And none in the camp will tell us anything unless drunk.

It’s the ideal circumstance really.

As soon as we’d found out that Jaime escaped, he was already being dragged back in. Apparently he had killed Lord Karstark’s son in the process. 

As terrible as that is, it’s to be expected. Hauling around a prisoner of his stature isn’t easy. Any smart man would plan an escape the minute they saw weakness or a break in ranks. Robb wasn’t here, and the kingslayer had a manipulatable cousin to use.

Why he doesn’t send him off somewhere he can keep well guarded and away from the war, I don't know.

Along with Catelyn’s arrival came her new sworn sword. Brienne of Tarth is possibly only of the tallest women I’ve ever seen. Though she always seemed angry, I had found her a rare beauty. She was loyal and protective, she never hesitated when the men of the camp sneered at her. As interested in her character as I was, she never strayed from her Lady.

It was getting late and we were all lounging around my tent, drinking wine and musing over any and all futures.

“Do you think the wolf boy will take you on himself?” I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer Durand question. Sure the last time we talked sounded hopeful, but I’d truly have to wait for when he returned.

Ulvar snorted before I could respond or change the subject. “Do you think he could even handle her?”

“She’d have his balls in a week.” Durand laughed.

“Neither of you idiots have a clue what ‘handling’ her is like, your talk is shit.”

“Fine, fine. You have to admit that they wouldn’t be a good fit. You can’t deny that Elly”

Elyane gave me a preemptive apology glance, “They’d either fucking or fighting, there’d be no inbetween.”

“I’m right here!”

“I don’t hear a defense,” Ulvar wisely pointed out.

“Just because I partially agree with you doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Fair played.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you offer to marry his brother?” Elyane tilted her head, scrunching up her nose as she tried to remember the details she eavesdropped.

“You did! Oh what was his name… Jon, right? The one on the wall? I wonder if he’s meet Daemos.”

“Rand, I’m actually impressed you’ve been paying attention this whole time.” I tease, “Yeah, I did ask for ‘the bastard of Winterfell’. I mean with Arienne in Norvos seemingly uninterested, Quentyn Gods know where, and Trystane engaged I thought it’d be best. Any children would have the Martell name, and I’d still be able to live in Dorne uninterrupted.”

“A bastard and a former bastard, perfect. You’d be doing that man a solid, coming to Dorne.”

“That seemingly works well, strategy wise. But what about your happiness? What if you enter into these agreements and you aren’t needed to rule?”

“Elyane, I’m the daughter of a noble lord, the only princess left in Dorne. Even if I’m not for the throne, I’m still needed for alliances. And if I can’t find happiness, I’ll make it.”

“Well, personally I think you’d make a great ruler.”

“I think I might agree with you for once, Rand” Ulvar clinked his cup with Durand and Elyane’s. “I wouldn’t be too quick to crown her though. Despite them not having been in Sunspear or in Dorne for sometime, Arieanne and Quentyn still are higher on the list.”

“I don’t think Arieanne wants it though. Why else would she have left to live with her mother?”

“I don't know, Elly. Maybe to avoid this? What I do know is that no one is telling us what happened the other night. Robb is returning tomorrow, and I’ll need as much sleep as I can to start bartering with him  _ and  _ his mother.”

“Busy day tomorrow,” Durand sighs. “Guess that’s our cue, leave the girls to their slumber party. No funny business you two.” He points at the two of us, feigning authority.

After they leave, Elyane starts preparing for the next day while I change into my night clothes. 

“Do you think the war will be over soon? I mean after everything’s settled with Robb and the Dornish troops are here?” 

“I hope so. I miss my Father, and my sisters.”

…

“Did you have  _ anything _ to do with this?” Robb accosted me. I’d barely stepped outside my tent when he had grabbed me.

“With  _ what _ ?”

“You're tired of being here, your guard dogs certainly don’t like me. It’d be the perfect time for you to undermine me.”

“I’m tired of being  _ ignored _ , Durand doesn’t  _ trust _ you because my father told him not too, and Ulvar makes a habit of not judging people he doesn’t know.” I pulled myself from his grasp on my arm. “Could you kindly explain what the  _ hell _ this is about?”

“You really don’t know” He looked at me quizzically, not sure if he believed it or not.

“No, I really don’t. It takes a good week to get your men drunk enough to tell me anything, and even then it’s not much.”

“The Kingslayer has escaped”

“Again! What are you keeping him in a cage made of  _ wool _ ?” I huffed. “He couldn't have gotten far and you found him the first you'll find him again.” 

“Well I’m glad  _ someone  _ has faith in me”

“Literally all these men are here  _ for you _ , what could possibly mean by that?”

“You’ll eventually find out anyways: my mother set him free”

“For the girls, didn’t she?” I paused, not wanting to show disappointment for her distrust. “I understand her worry over them, but could she not have waited? I mean we had a plan, right? My father would have done, he’ll still do it. He knows what the Lannisters do the daughters of enemy families.”

“Speaking of a deal. We’re going to have to postpone any meeting of ours.”

“Are you joking? I’ve spent six months in your camp and we’ve accomplished nothing with each other.”

“It’s not the right time to be discussing deals with a southerner,  _ any _ southerner”

“It never will be! But you don’t have a choice, you can’t loose men like Tywin can. You need to  _ strengthen _ your position, you need my men to do so.”

“What I  _ need _ is less traitors in my camp.”

“And what have I betrayed you on?”

“You write and receive letters from Dorne. You could be plotting my demise as we speak.”

“Since you trust me so little, why don’t you have your men read them.”

“It’s no use without a cypher,” He scoffs.

“Little girls don’t know how to write in code.” I spit back at him. “My sisters, Dorea, Loreza, Obella, and if I’m lucky Elia, most of which haven’t reached their eleventh name day, are the letters I write and receive. Yes, this is war and writing risks others knowing I’m here. But, they miss their sister and they don’t understand the dangers of this world yet.” I defend. Though as I finish his resolve softens.

“I’m sorry, I have to assume everyone I don’t know is an enemy.”

“I know. I also know that you like that nurse girl. I don’t say this to mock, and I’m sure I’m not the first to tell you, but you can’t afford her.”

“Excuse me? Talisa is not a woman out for wealth.”

“You show too much interest in her, and your men don’t think you honor your vows. There are Frey men in this camp; you should worry over their letters more than mine.” I reply pointedly.

“The Frey’s will not abandon me for  _ flirting _ .” I swore I saw him roll his eyes.

“But, you're not  _ flirting _ with his daughter. If you’ve slept with her-”

“Then what? Dorne abandons me? Because you’ve been so much  _ help _ .”

“Just wanted to warn you.” I huffed, exasperated. “If you want me out of your camp, all you have to do is say the word.”

“You can’t leave, you know-”

“You clearly don't want an alliance, you don’t like my presence, but I’m not allowed to leave! What am I, a hostage now?” I’m over this camp, I’m over this dumb boy. Dad was right, I shouldn’t have come.

“You know too much about my camp and my men. But, you could still be useful. You're not a prisoner and we may yet be allies in the future, you’ll just have to be patient.” And with that he left. 

“Hey, you alright? What was that about?” Ulvar asked as he approached.

“Catelyn set Jaime free. And we are now semi-prisoners”

“Were we ever not partial prisoners?”


	7. 06 - News

It’s been almost three months, and still nothing. I’ve heard that Robb sent Lord Bolton’s bastard to take back Winterfell, and there hasn’t been word of that either. Catelyn is on house arrest, and there are always eyes on us.

I know she doesn’t like me, but with the way things are going, neither of us are going to get much company. Ulvar and Elyane are somewhere trying to get information from drunk soldiers and Durand is following me towards Lady Catelyn’s tent.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Durand asked cautiously.

“Rand, I have … nothing else to do. No one talks to me and no one talks to her. Maybe we’ll find solace in each other?” 

I sighed, taking in the guards that stood at her door. I nodded towards my friend to stay outside, assuring him that I’d be fine.

I stepped into Catelyn’s tent to find her quite surprised that I’d be here.

“Lady Soare, have you come to mock?”

“While I don’t agree with what you did or how you did it, I can’t fault you for wanting your daughters back.” I moved to take a seat across from her at her small table.

“Can you blame a mother for not trusting a girl whose going after her son?”

“I am no shark; I do not mean you or your family harm, I’ve said this before. I’m after an alliance, one that asks for a marriage, but as I told him it does not have to be Robb. But, that's not why I’m here.”

“Then why have you  _ graced _ me with your presence?”

“Before I arrived you struck a deal with Walder Frey. Robb is promised to his daughter.”

“And he will keep that promise.”

“Will he? He follows that nurse around like he’s a lost pup. It's clear he’s in love. And men and boys alike to do  _ stupid  _ things for love.”

“I’ve already warned him off of such things”

“Right, because he’s taking your advice right now?” I gester around the room, pointing towards the guards at her door.

“I can’t help but ask why you care so much” She changes the subject, not wanting to admit defeat.

“Because if he marries that girl the Frey men leave. You can’t afford that. You’ll lose this war if you lose any more men. And it’ll just another family the Lannisters destroyed. Don’t you see? The whole country is desperately waiting to be rid of them.” I let out a sigh and reluctantly take a hold of Catelyn’s hands, “One stupid, loveblind desicion and this war will swallow you whole.”

“It’s late child, but I’ll speak with him on the morrow.” She patted my hand as we stood and she led me out her tent. “I thank you for your care and your candor.”

I bid her goodnight and head back towards my own tent.

“That was quieter than expected. I thought I was going to bear witness to a screaming match.”

“Thank you for the  _ confidence. _ I know you might think me a little girl, but I am  _ quite  _ capable of dealing with unfavorable positions.” I chuckled, shaking my head.

“For someone 9 years my junior, I can’t find many as adept as you. I never meant to downplay your  _ capabilities _ , I just happened to realise where the stark boy gets his hard-headedness from.” 

“Well, let's hope there’ll be good news in the morning”

…

Oh, was there news that morning. Robb had married Talisa that night, and just like I feared the Frey men left the next morning. The Lannisters defeated Stannis at the Blackwater with help from the Tyrells, and this camp hasn’t seen battle since.

Apparently we’ve been marching towards Harrenhal and further into the Riverlands to meet and join Edmure Tully’s forces.

“I’m starting to fear this Robb Stark has no idea what he’s doing.” Ulvar sighed.

It’s been quiet on the matter of a Stark-Martell alliance. While we aren’t treated like hostages, no one is quick to strike a conversation. We’re just southerners here for the ride. Or at least that's what we are allowed to do.

“And what would you suggest?” Durand looks at him pointedly, “You never been to war. And you were trained to be a  _ castle guard _ , not a strategist.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that last bit. If I was Robb, that’s the scenario right?” I watch as Rand looks towards the sky, but I’m kind of interested in what Ulvar would do.

“Are we letting this happen?” Elyane mused, pulling her horse closer to mine.

“Well, first of all, If I did marry for love and break promise with Walder Frey, only my wife and I would know. Keeping the Frey men, while following my heart.”

“Clever” I laughed. Silently urging him to continue.

“Secondly, because I’m a good brother, I would give mine a gift: a life as husband to a Princess in a land where they don’t care about birth status. I’ve secured  _ thousands _ more men to my cause  _ and _ I have not only Soare’s  _ brilliant _ mind, but I have the  _ legendary _ Red Viper on my side.” Ulvar gave me a cheeky wink.

“Alright  _ pretend robb, _ what about Winterfell? The Ironborn? Your home is still  _ sacked _ , your brothers  _ missing _ and your sisters  _ hostage _ . You’ve won nothing”

“But I have a plan for that, Rand. You see half the promised Dornishmen will join me in the Westerlands to take the Rock, the other half will go by sea. Oberyn will meet them in the Blackwater with two Stark stowaways, from there they’ll sail to White Harbor to take back the North.” He flashed a smile, pleased with his vision.

We were so caught up in Ulvar’s fantasy we didn’t see actual Robb approaching with the Greatjon and Lord Karstark.

“It’s not half bad” Rickard shrugged.

“If your done jesting, I would actually like to discuss something of  _ importance. _ ” Robb asked. Though with the way he turned and started to leave, I think It was more of a demand.

As I quickly followed the men into Harrenhal, I could slightly here Rand and Elly ripping into Ulvar for potential mocking a king to his face.

“Are you  _ actually _ letting me into one of your war meetings?” I question as he leads me through the once great keep.

“You, and some of my advisors, warned me that my affections would lose me the Freys. And you were right. Maybe I should listen to you… sometimes”

Before I could follow Robb into the room, the Greatjon pulled me aside.

“You want to be a part of this camp? A  _ real _ part of this camp?”

“Why else would I be here?” Confused as to what Lord Umber was up to.

“You marry the bastard and give us an army, that right? You want us to trust you? You’ve got to  _ prove _ you’re worth trusting.”

“You’re scaring her, Umber.” Rickard slapped the man on the shoulder and pulled him in the room with me following.

To my surprise, Catelyn and Robb’s new wife Talisa were allowed in this supposed council meeting.

“I’ve brought you all here to discuss the future.” Robb announced from the high-seat of the table. “I’ve received word that Lord Bolton’s son has recovered Winterfell, though my brothers are still missing. Within the last few days my grandfather, Hoster Tully has died.”

“So we’ve got the North back, we should be marching west.”

“I’m leaving Roose in command of Harrenhal, our main host will follow me to Riverrun.” Robb finished.

“So you’re leaving war for a funeral?” I almost instantly regretted speaking up, now the entire room is looking at me.

“And what would you suggest,  _ Princess _ ?”

“I can’t suggest anything. As much as I’ve offered, you’ve made clear this isn’t my war.”

“We’re going to Riverrun to get Tully troops. The little lady’s been dangling Dornishmen for months, all she needs is a husband.” Lord Manderly proclaims.

“A shame all of us are married now” Lord Glover chuckled.

I try my best not to be distressed over the evident want many of these brute men have for me. In trying to distract myself from the darker thoughts swirling, I notice Talisa. She also seems uncomfortable. Perhaps not with how they view me, but more of what that means for her. We lock eyes for a moment, the two of us aware of what was revealed: I was the better option, and she’d be the first to blame for loss.

“We’ll fight and follow our King, but our men are tired. It’s been a year now since we’ve had a good fight, a big victory. We are no closer to saving your sisters, freeing the North, or getting our vengeance.” Another lord spoke, I think his house was Cerwyn.

“We need more men” Maege Mormont concluded.

“You can get the Frey’s back if you make amends and give ‘em another noble lord.”

“Who needs a weasel… when you can get snakes,” Manderly lilts. “Heard she’ll even take Snow. Think your brother’s had enough of the black?”

“I’m not making any decisions about southern alliances until my grandfather’s at rest and Tully troops by our side.”

“The Tyrell’s have sided with the Lannisters, The Tully’s might fight with us, but Lady Arryn sends no aid, and after the Blackwater, Stannis is in the wind. We need more men. I know it, you know it, and they know it. If Dorne wants to skin lions, I don’t see why they shouldn’t do it with us.” Lord Glover gave an approving nod in my direction.

It seems Robb has been talking about our alliance, just not with me.

After going over whose men were staying or going, we were all dismissed. As I was leaving the room to go and find my friends, my only slice of home in this unending war, I was stopped. A light, accented voice calling out my name.

“Forgive me, Princess we haven’t yet met.”

“I don’t believe we have. Talisa, right?” I reply turning around to meet her.

“Perhaps we could take a stroll around camp?” She approached, silently asking to link arms. “There's not many women around, I think we best know each other.”

“I don’t see why not” I smiled. 

“I heard you came close to marrying Robb, I do apologise for any plans I’ve ruined.” She starts as we leave earshot of her aforementioned husband.

“I think everything worked out the way it was meant to.”

“Speaking of which, there's a chance we might be sisters one day.”

“There’s a whole lot of bridges to cross before that. And I’m not even sure Jon Snow would want to leave The Wall or its vows, especially with the habit of Stark men being so honorable.”

“Robb wasn’t honorable when he married me and broke vow with Lord Frey, which also must have put you in an odd spot.”

“The few letters that I’ve gotten from home that aren’t from my sisters, don’t exactly sing your husbands praise.”

“What father wants to see his daughter overlooked?”

“Mine doesn’t care if I marry. He just doesn’t like the disrespect I’ve been shown. In truth, he loves that Robb is now married, even more reason for me to come home.”

“I remember how angry my father was when I had left. ‘You’re place is here, doing your duty to this house’, he couldn’t imagine that I’d thought of someone other than him.”

“I was raised to do whatever I wanted. If I want to fight, he trained me. And when I grew curious of court, he asked Doran to make room for me in the Tower of the Sun. He fears what our enemies might do to me if I am discovered. He doesn’t have much faith that the Northmen would protect me as they would you.”

“Robb wouldn’t let harm-”

“I know, but Robb can’t control all of his men in the midst of chaos. If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back. My friends are quick to worry.” I walk away from the new queen. The events and words from earlier running through my mind.


	8. 07 - Trouts and Fires

We had arrived at Riverrun the night before, and were now in attendance of Hoster Tully’s funeral. Our group watched is mild amusement as Edmure’s third arrow had missed the funeral boat. We were standing behind the Tully bannermen. Watching their unfamiliar customs from shore.

The Blackfish, Brynden Tully, pushed his nephew aside as he grabbed the bow himself. He took a moment to watch the wind. Sure of his stance he loosed the arrow. He turned and left the docks before it ever hit its target.

“The man’s a legend,” A stunned Ulvar whispered, watching him go.

I watched as the burning boat made its way down the river, growing smaller in the distance until it was as if it was never there. The nobles of the area slowly left the mossy banks, either to go tend to their crops or prepare their men.

Robb slowly approached me with his wife in toe. I could see Catelyn in discussion with her brother, the two most likely heading back to the castle where their uncle must be waiting.

“My condolences. I can’t imagine losing _ anyone  _ during these times is easy.” I offer.

“My thanks, though I never really met him.”

“I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure your Uncles have many strategies they want to discuss.” Thinking that was the end of our conversation, I almost turned to leave.

“They do, but I remember you feeling scorned over not being included. I also seem to recall your man going on about some brilliant mind you had.”

“Are you  _ actually _ going to start treating me like a comrade?” I smiled when I found no trace of mockery in his stance or tone. He is actually letting me into meetings with his most trusted advisors. Maybe he was warming up to me.

**. . .**

After small introductions, Durand and I sat near a corner of the room, content to listen until there was something we could offer. While he didn’t act like it most of the time, Rand was meant to be an advisor of sorts until an arrangement was struck.

“If I may nephew, I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing upon-” Edmure began to recount. I found it odd how he spoke as if Robb hadn’t been the one at war the entire time.

“Will you shut your mouth about that damned mill?” The old, scaled Trout’s voice was not as gruff as I’d imagined it to be, though his personality made up for it. “And don’t call him nephew, he’s  _ your _ King” 

“Robb knows I meant him no disrespect-”

“You're lucky I’m not your King. I wouldn’t let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag”

As the two men went back and forth with each other, I caught Rand stifling a chuckle. As amusing as I found the display of masculinity, it was serving no purpose. I was glad when Robb had cut them off.

“It’s not about glory!” He turned to face them. “You're instructions were to wait for him to come to you.”

“I seized an opportunity,” The younger Tully defended. The Blackfish watched unamused, already knowing the lecture to come.

“What  _ value  _ was the mill?”

“The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it”

“Is he there  _ now _ ?”

“Of course not. We took the fight to him, he could not withstand us.” Edmure continued to answer. He was confused, surely Robb would know these things by now.

“I wanted to draw the Mountain into the  _ west _ , into  _ our country _ where we could surround him and kill him.” I found myself wanting to swim in the idea, the notion of killing the beast who did horrors to my aunt and her babes. “I wanted him to chase us. As he would have done because he is a  _ mad dog _ without a strategic thought in his head. I could have had that head on a  _ spike _ by now. Instead I have a mill.” Robb finished.

There was nothing Edmure could say back, he was bested. And yet he kept going.

“We took hostages: Willem Lannister, Martyn Lannister-”

“Willem and Martyn Lannister are 14 years old.”

“Martyn is 15, I believe” Brynden added, only to mock it would seem.

“Tywin Lannister has my sisters, have I sued for peace?”

“No” I have come to the conclusion that Edmure Tully might just be the biggest dunce I’ve ever met.

“Do you think he’ll sue for peace because we have his... father’s brother’s great-grandsons?”

“no” He truly looked defeated.

“How many men did you lose?”

“208, but for every man we lost the Lannisters-”

“ **_We need our men more than Tywin needs his_ ** !”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You would have, right here today at this gathering if you had been patient”

“Seem to be running short of patience here” The eldest in the room interjected.

“You know who isn’t, Tywin Lannister”

I had let the men finish their arguing. With Edmure somewhat disgraced and the topic of their numbers being brought up, I figured there's never a better time.

“Terrible timing, I’m aware. But, I think you should consider my offer again” Edmure turned, staring at me confused. “You said it yourself, you need your men. Dorne can give you more,”

“How many?” Brynden asked. He was clearly more aware of the reasoning for my presence than the new Lord of Riverrun.

“25 thousand at least, and a few boats,”

“That’s more than we already have.”

“We’d be overrun by Dornishmen,” Edmure had a look of displeasure on his face, he clearly wasn’t fond of the idea.

“You’d win the _ fucking _ war though. You could all go home, there’d be an  _ end _ to  _ all this death _ , I think that’s worth  _ your _ discomfort.”

“There’s the venom,” The Blackfish comments. “What are you uncle’s terms?”

“A healthy trade, open borders, and a marriage”

“Do it matter to whom?” Edmure chimed in, interested. 

“There are a few agreeable options”

“I’m afraid you’re not one of them” Durand shot back, already seeing where the unmarried man’s mind was going.

“And who are you?”

“Durand of House Qorgyle, second in line to Sandstone, and  _ personally _ entrusted by the Red Viper to protect his daughter. I advise against any… ideas you might have.”

“Not helping” I whisper-yelled towards my overprotective friend.

“What’s the catch? You’ve been with the camp since Oxcross, there's got to be a reason Robb hasn’t agreed yet.”

“Their first pick is Jon. He choose to go to the Wall, I don't want to take that from him.” Robb entered the group discussion.

“You have to make sacrifices to win a war. You’re father did, my brother did, and her’s did by sending her here.” The Blackfish reminded. “The Wall will still be there, after the deal is done and the war is won, he can always go back.”

“You think they’d make all this fuss over it, just to let him go?”

“Who's to say he’d _ want _ to leave after coming to Dorne?” I interject. “We certainly don’t treat  _ bastards _ like you do.”

“Isn’t you’re cousin betrothed to a Lannister?” Edmure re-enters the discourse.

“We haven’t sent men to fight on their behalf, have we?”

“Exactly, if an engagement to a Lannister didn’t gain them men, why would your marriage give us any?” Edmure actually makes a somewhat valid point.

“I’m hoping Myrcella is a smokescreen?” Byrnden asked. The entire room is waiting for my response, either expecting me to admit deceit or come up with something clever.

“Doran would send you men because none of you or your fathers ordered the brutal rape and murder of his only sister. What would you do if someone did that to Catelyn, to Sansa?” I let the men consider what I’ve said.

“Dorne has been willing and able to attend and cause Lannister funerals since as long as I can remember” Durand chimed in.

“It’s never been a question of ‘if’, it was always when.” I added.

After a moment of silence Edmure looked towards his nephew, his King, “Maybe you should write your brother”

**. . .**

It was just Elyane and I in the room Robb had marked as mine. I was reading through the letters I received from home.

“For her name day, Obella would like Rez and Rea to be able to write their own letters.” I giggled.

“Gods, they must be following her around without you there to entertain them.”

“Apparently Ellaria finally caved and got them a Governess and a Septa”

“Ah, so you’ve been doing two peoples jobs,” Elly laughed, a sound I truly loved and hoped to never forget. “Well, at least we know you’re capable of rearing a child. Nothing from Elia this month?”

“No, Bella says she’s been cutting off the little ones more in favour of training and worshipping Bara, Nym, and Ty.”

“That can only spell trouble,” She sighs.

“I know. In other news, Rea wants to know when the wedding is, so she has a dress ready. ‘P.S. Is he pretty’?” I couldn’t help but laugh at her naivety.

“She still thinks you're marrying Robb? ‘Is he pretty?’ I can’t wait to see her response when someone tells her he’s got a Direwolf.”

“Oh, then he’ll have the whole package. A big,  _ fluffy _ dog? She’ll demand a wedding just for that!”

The two of us were almost lost in our fit of giggles when I noticed my Father and Uncle’s seal on one of the unopened letters. Elyane must have noticed it too, her laughter had died down. The atmosphere had changed, everything seemed more serious than it had seconds before.

“Is that…? But they don’t usually write unless it’s important.”

“With things looking better, alliance wise, I’m almost scared to open it” 

But I do anyway. It’s from my uncle, and as much as I miss him, his words do not send me comfort.

“Are you alright? What does it say?”

“They haven’t heard word back from Q in some months, they fear he may be lost at sea.”

“When did even leave Dorne?”

“I don’t know. They’ve sent for Arieanne. By his own admission, Uncle gets less-suited for rule by the day, says he can no longer travel between Sunspear and the Water Gardens.”

“He doesn’t think he’s going to die, does he?”

“No, thank the Gods. Just that it’d be wise to keep his heirs around should his health falter to the point of abdication.”

“Is that all? I hate to seem insensitive about Quentyn, I know he’s like a brother to you.”

“We’ve been invited to the Royal Wedding as well as a seat in the small council; Father is going in Doran’s place. And with the way things are going, Doran has lost faith in the Starks winning this war. The next loss or blunder, we are to return home.” I sighed throwing the parchment into the fire with the rest.

I don’t know why I want to keep these so much, I’ll be returning home soon and will have no need for their writings.

“But didn’t you say earlier that you’d gained much headway? Including supposed approval from Robb’s uncle?”

“Yeah. Although their probully only considering me now because they’re losing. But they haven’t lost yet, they can still turn it around. And we’re to stay until they make a wrong move, it could be a while.”

“Should I tell the boys?”

“No, I want to keep this quiet, and you know how Rand gets when he’s drunk.”

“And I was just getting used to being in a war camp,” Elly mused. 

I watched as she prodded the fire, the remains of the letters crulling in the flames before turning to ash. I felt the sudden urge to cry, but pushed the thought away. It’d be stupid to cry, Q isn’t  _ really _ lost he’s just playing hooky. And I’ll be home soon, everything will be fine.


	9. 08 - Oaths Broken and New

Something horrid had happened the night before.

I had come to the meeting hall to further discuss terms, upon my entering I was met with corpses. The Lannister boys that Edmure had taken hostage were now laying dead on the ground.

I don’t like Lannisters, but even I could admit that such a thing was wrong. They were boys. Boys whose only fault was being born into a cruel family. They had nothing to do with any of this war or past grievances.

Yet, Rickard Karstark stood proud. He claimed it to be a father’s justice, but all I could see was blind rage.

“Is that all of them? It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?”

“Not murder, Your Grace. Vengeance.” Rickard replied, almost expecting a reward.

“Vengeance? Those boys didn't kill your sons. I saw Harrion die on the battlefield and Torrhen-”

“Was strangled by the Kingslayer. They were his kin.”

“They were boys! Look at them.” Robb was disgusted. In truth, these boys were not much younger than Sansa.

“Tell your mother to look at them. She killed them as much as I.” Lord Karstark tried shifting the blame to Catelyn.

“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason.”

“It's treason to free your enemies. In war, you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that, boy?” He didn’t even get a chance to feel proud of his words before the Blackfish decided to teach respect.

After Rickard had gotten up from the hit and Robb ordered him to be left alone, the man couldn’t help but toss in some insults.

“Aye. Leave me to the King. He wants to give me a  _ scolding _ before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason. Our King in the North. Or should I call him the King Who  _ Lost  _ the North?”

“Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon. Hang the rest.” Robb was not taking any of this lightly; the entire room could feel the weight of his stare.

One of the men cried out for mercy, but there was known to be had. As the lookout, he would watch them all die first.

After the Karstark men were escorted out the tension in the room had only gotten thicker. Edmure was rallying for secrecy, at least until the war was over. No one need pay the Lannister debt yet. But, Robb was determined to fight for justice.

“I’m not fighting for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how highborn. He has to die.”

And there it was; the honor, the good intentions that got his father killed. It appeared I would be going home a lot sooner than expected. Dorne would have to wait for it’s vengeance yet again.

I was more caught up in my own mind then the discourse of everyone’s opinions. I was going home, and I didn’t yet know how to feel about it. I had grown to admire some of the men of this camp and I didn’t want to see them lose.

“You’ve been oftly quiet. Would the Lady of Sunspear like to voice her opinion?” Robb pulled me from my thoughts.

“It’s righteous, wanting to kill a man for the murder of boys. And I know that’s what you see it as. But the context is important.” I answered after I gathered my thoughts.

“It _ is _ just. We shouldn’t commend the death of children just because of whose they are.”

A sore subject. He knows full-well that my cousins were killed as babes because of whose blood they share.

“You're attempt to get a rise out of me is ill advised. You want to cut the head of your strongest northern army in defense of Lannisters?” I questioned, he had to know what this sounded like.

“I am seeking justice. Murder is a crime as well as treason.”

“What happens when the Karstarks want justice? Did you not start the War of the Five Kings because someone removed  _ your _ father’s head?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Your father _ did _ commit treason, no matter it being the right thing to do. Killing Lannisters is the entire point of the war. If you execute a man for doing so, you might as well pack up and go home. You’ve already lost the Freys, do you want to lose the Karstarks too?” I spoke the truth, even if it was harsh.

“We can’t afford to lose his men. If you want to enact justice, hostage is the best option.” Edmure reasons.

But our words fell on deaf ears. Robb was to pass the sentence and swing the sword within the next few days.

I was on my way to tell Elyane to start packing our things and to inform Rand and Ulvar that our stay with the Northmen would be over soon.

I was rounding the corner to the courtyard where they were preparing an executioners mound when I was stopped by two men.

Here stood before men the Greatjon and a man I believe was Jason Mallister.

“Come on lass we’re goin’ for a walk” Umber leads me, I know not where. 

I figured it’d be best to not put up a fuss and follow these men of such storied pasts. I needn’t be caught in the act of leaving. I’ve got to play this smart and rise suspicion.

“I’ve heard you tried to warn our King off his now wife” Ser Mallister’s light blue-grey eyes studied me.

“I did, I feared the Frey’s already didn’t take kindly to his flirtation of a woman other than his daughter. Unfortunately, I was right.” I answered, still unaware of why I was approached.

“And I gather you don’t think beheading Rickard is a good move.” The Greatjon looks to his companion, silently conferring. “Aye, you seem to be a smart girl and you haven’t run crying from this lot. Robb’s got a good mind for war strategy, but he’s losing to politics.”

“All kings and lords need to make political marriages; his father did, his aunt did, his sister seems to have fallen prey to Lannister plot. The wise choice would’ve been you. We need the men, and with you charging from the south, could’ve cut the east from the west. Easy pickings.” The tall Riverlord outlined.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is this about?” Both men looked at me after sharing a knowing look.

“Our good King has a back-up plan. In the case that none of us are around to enact it, we’ve created a back-up plan of our own.” Jason stated.

“Now this is important business and I trust you’ll keep it to yourself, seeing as you’ve been with us almost a year now and haven’t spread our secrets.” The Greatjon was an intimidating man and I wouldn’t dare give him reason to doubt me.

It was then that I realised where they were leading me: the Godswood of Riverrun. Something told me we weren’t here to enjoy the flowers. And thus we began our walk through the elms and redwoods.

“We’ve lost the Freys and I doubt we’ll be likely to get them back in an agreeable manner. I share the fear that with what Robb’s about to do, we’ll lose the Karstarks as well.”

“With Robb fretting over his  _ word choice _ , a letter may never make it to Jon Snow in time.” The Greatjon finishes their shared sentiment.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you want me to do about it. I’m a Martell, with no connection or ties to the North. I have no official or political reason for fighting for your cause.” I have a feeling they wish to get me involved in a way I can’t promise to uphold.

“You’re uncle’s said to be a smart man, and you Dornish never say what you're actually after. Jon is technically a sand, if the rumors are true that is. Were you sent to bring a lost countrymen home?” Jason was proving to be a wise man, not many considered Doran as anything but a weak, aging cripple.

“Doran keeps his secrets close to heart, I may know some but not all. He exact reasoning for picking Jon Snow specifically is unknown to me. I would assume it’s because I am in the line of succession.” I admitted.

We had come to a stop, now standing in front of a great Weirwood. I had never seen one before. I was in awe of it; it’s pale white bark and blood red leaves, shaped similarly to a human hand. I found it’s face to be unpleasant; It was sad looking already, no need for it to be crying red sap.

“No man can lie in front of a Heart tree, not with the Gods watching.” Lord Umber recounted to me. “You’ve shown concern for House Stark and what may become of them. If we are to lose this war, if none of us are left in a position to do so. Will you make sure the Starks aren’t another family lost to the Lannisters, swear they won’t be ‘swallowed whole’?”

“Are you using my words?”

“Aye, twas Umber men keeping eye on Catelyn. A shame you were a bit lame with you're warning.”

“Will you swear it? If not for compassion, then simple strife for the Lannisters?” The tourney knight wanted to get straight to the point.

“Without an alliances, I can’t make any promises, nor swear any oaths.” I paused, planning my next words wisely. “But if Robb agrees, word is sent to his brother, and we are betrothed. I will do all I can for the Starks and the North.” 

Doran wouldn’t agree. He had already told me to ride home, and yet I was saying these things anyway. It’s true, I didn’t want to see Robb’s family fall to the wayside. Maybe the Greatjon was right; maybe the Weirwoods do hold some magic.

“You swear it on the Old Gods and the New?” The man of seven feet asked.

“I do.” I did, I honestly believed I would find some way to help the Northern cause.

“You’ve done it the Northern way, now give me your hand.” The Lord of Seagard pulled out a small blade and sliced his palm and to my surprise Greatjon did too. 

I took the first man blade and cut my own palm. As I shook both men’s hands, our blood oath was now binding.

“Our lines are now bound in mutual purpose. If you ever find yourself in need of assistance in the North-”

“Or the Riverlands,”

“All you need is show that scar, our boys’ll help ya.” He finished while wrapping his now bloodied hand in cloth. I did the same with fabric offered to me by Jason.

“We best be getting back to the keep, wouldn’t want to miss Karstark’s last words.” The weathered knight mused.

We had made it back in time for the execution, both Lords taking their places near the rest of Robb’s advisors. I watched from aside the courtyard. Through the heavy rain I had noticed that Galbert Glover and Maege Mormont were missing. I had no time to wonder why as I became ensnared in the events unfolding before me.

“The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours, boy. I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffrey for you. We are  _ kin _ , Stark and Karstark.” The man almost snarled as he was walked to the block.

“That didn’t stop you from betraying me, and it won’t save you now.” Robb only had cold words for him.

“I don’t want it to  _ save _ me. I want it to  _ haunt you _ to the end of your days.”

“Kneel, my lord.” I watched from the sidelines as he did so, submitting to his orders. Rickard’s head hanging over the edge.

I felt the presence of my loyal friends by my side as we watched a Northern Lord die under Tully flags for western boys.

“Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, here, in sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die.” Robb prepared himself, adjusting his on his sword. “Would you speak a final word?”

The doomed man growled back at his King, “Kill me and be cursed. You are no king of mine.”

And with a swift slice of the blade and a grunt from Robb, the man was dead. I could tell Robb was still angry, probably from the denouncement, he had dropped his sword and marched off into the distance. Men cleared the body from the stone, now a corpse and nothing more.


	10. 09 - Discontent

We were right. Within the next few days all of the Karstark men had abandoned camp and went home. As should I. I should be on the road, half-way to Stoney Sept by now, and yet I’m still at Riverrun.

Maybe it’s because I feel it rude to leave in the night without telling Robb. Or maybe because I know he won’t let me go, especially now that he could use our men the most. There's also the possibility that the weirwood magics and the blood oaths have bound me to stay in this place.

I was talking with Jason Mallister, whom had reluctantly let Durand in on our arrangement seeing as he wasn’t letting me go anywhere unattended.

“Two of walder Frey’s sons have come to give terms for a reestablished alliance. I, and as I’m sure the Princes of Dorne, would prefer you remain an unknown player in this game.”

“I’m to be kept as a potential secret weapon then?”

“Speaking of Dorne, I wouldn’t imagine Doran sees us as a worthy investment in our current state. I should think your father has sent for your return.”

“You would be right. You’ve lost the Freys, Winterfell was sacked, and the Karstarks have abandoned your cause. I would imagine a letter of withdrawal will arrive any day now.” I decided to lie. 

“And when that day comes, I don’t think our King would be letting you leave so easily.”

“It’s a good thing he’s King in the  _ North  _ then. If our Crowned Prince orders us home, then there is nothing  _ your _ king can do about it.” Rand gave me a knowing glance.

Before any of us could comment on what we all knew, I spotted Ulvar approaching us from the courtyard.

“My Lady, Robb Stark would like your presence in the meeting hall” Ulver sent a silent question to me and Rand, the latter of whom mouthed a ‘tell you later’.

“My apologies, Ser Mallister it appears I’m needed.” I sighed turning to my friends, “So much for staying hidden.”

As we slowly walked towards the hall, both men voiced their opinions.

“Are you gonna tell him we’re leaving?”

“She shouldn’t have to. We should have left days ago.” The Qorgyle man looked at me pointedly.

“And what were you doing talking to the Lord of Seagard?” Ulvar completely ignores Rand’s harsh tone.

“I’ll tell you about it later. And yes, I am going to tell Robb we’re heading home.” Just as I’d finished we’d reached the hall, “Wish me luck?”

Upon entering, I was glad to see that the Freys were not here. Robb and all three Tullys sat at the table.

“You wanted to see me?”

“We’ve made a deal with the Freys and are leaving for the Twins within the week.” Robb addressed me without looking up from whatever it was he was writing.

“And you believe he’s actually going to help you?” I asked, raising one of my brows.

“I’m going to marry one of his daughters, he has to.” Edmure interjected. I could tell he felt rather indignant at the subject.

“I don’t mean to offend you, Lord Edmure, but when you’ve had a taste of silver, copper won’t do.”

“We can worry about Lord Frey later. I need your men, and I’ve delayed you longer enough-”

“I was starting to worry about the Red Viper showing up.” the Blackfish adds, leaning back in his seat.

“Right, we’d rather you fight with us. You’d be pleased to know, I’m sending this-” He holds up the apparent letter he was writing, “to Jon. We’ll get our agreement written up, and you can write your Uncle to send men.”

“If you had only said that… a  _ week  _ ago. My father believes you have mocked me long enough, I’m ordered home.”

“You came to me and expressed great care and concern, I do wonder if all you Dornish are such skilled liars.” The she-wolf strikes again.

“It wasn’t a lie. I do hope your family doesn’t go through more than it already has. But you’re  _ losing  _ this war, you know that. And with Tyrell’s going to the crown, it just isn’t a good investment anymore. My uncle doesn’t want to see me captured or worse because of it.” I defended myself.

“I’ve already told you, you  _ cannot _ leave this camp.” Robb looked at me with such fire in his eyes. He  _ needed _ Dornish troops, if I had to play hostage bride then so be it.

“And I’ll tell  _ you _ again. If I’m not back when I should be, if I don’t send word from the road; all of the fighting force of Dorne will be at your doorstep, my father  _ and  _ my sisters first. Hell the crown would even back us just for the  _ show _ .”

We were both standing on opposite sides of the long table, glaring at each other.

“Can’t take the castle from the outside, it’s near impenetrable.” Edmure scoffed lazily.

“What do you think I’ll be doing?  _ Knitting _ ? I like you, maybe even admire you, but you make me a prisoner and you’ll regret it.” I spat back. I’m starting to see why father was so uninterested in politics.

“Escort her and her friends back to her room, and keep watch.”

I turned and left before his guards had the chance to drag me out. I passed a confused Ulvar and an irate Rand on my way back to my room. They soon joined me.

“Sure we were looked at as potential prisoners before, but the whole armed guard treatment?” Ulvar asked no one in particular.

“We could fight them off and go.” Rand was already strategizing an escape.

“We’d never get Elyane soon enough, we can’t fight off an entire castle by ourselves, and if we did the entire Riverlands would be looking for us.” I could barely think I was so angry.

Who does Robb think he is holding us hostage. We’re not his subjects, he’s not our king. We may be in his camp, but we are not under his jurisdiction. 

. . .

I hadn’t been allowed to write letters or receive mine since then. Elyane doesn’t leave our tent and Rand and Ulvar scarcely leave my side. We’ve been dragged along to the Twins for the wedding. I guess Robb doesn’t trust his men enough to stop a potential escape, at least he thinks I’m formidable.

He’s trying his best to keep me out of sight from the Freys, yet close enough that he can watch me.

“Must your  _ ill-mannered  _ friends follow you around?” A discontented Edmure voiced.

“Must your guards follow me around as if I’m a traitor?”

“Dorne is a good secret weapon, and I need to keep  _ you _ around for that. Once you marry my brother, your uncle will be forced to send men. After that you can do as you please.” I was sure Robb was attempting to be reassuring, but he was a pure dunce if he thought that was going to work.

“My uncle will send men alright, but I doubt they’ll be fighting for  _ you _ . You or your brother  _ force _ me into anything, my father will slit your throat himself.”

“ _ Charming _ .” Edmure retorted. I could see Rand glaring at him from the corner of my eye.

“I do hope you have a plan for that, King. I’m not fighting the man.” The Blackfish questioned with casual concern.

“Enough of this bickering, we’ll worry about that later. Lord Walder is prickly by nature. I worry delaying him-” Catelyn worried, changing the subject to the matters at hand. Not before spurning me coldly.

“‘Prickly’? That what you call it? Might be the least pleasant man I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, and that is why-”

“I’ve seen wet shits I liked better than Walder Frey.” He seemingly forgot the presence of a lady, “Apologies, Your Grace. I’ve spent too many years around lancers and pikemen.”

“I’ve spent two years nursing wounded men, watching them bleed and die. I’m not afraid of wet shits.” Talisa admitted getting a laugh out of Robb.

“Lord Frey will take this delay as a slight.” Catelyn continued, still fretting over the troubled waters between their houses.

“He can take it as he likes. He’s getting the wedding he wanted.” I do wonder why Edmure thought so highly of himself.

“He’s getting _ a _ wedding. It was a king he wanted.”

“Edmure is the best match a Frey has had in the history of their house.” Robb was apparently finished speaking of the matter, I was not. 

“But why would he send men to your cause  _ now _ ? Doran no longer thinks of you as a good proposition and Dorne has  _ far _ more men than Walder Frey.” I pointed out, Robb could no longer win this war and a thousand Frey men weren’t going to change those odds.

“We will take the Rock with more men. Lord Frey wants to be on the winning side.” Robb rebuffed, still holding on to the idea that he could still win, or at least win back my uncle’s support.

“You had something along 20 thousand men. Sure you lost some through battles, but the others were due to your  _ own _ political incompetence. If you didn’t marry Talisa; you’d still have the Freys and Edmure could make a more advantageous match, I believe Margery Tyrell was recently widowed at the time.” I was trying to show that just as easily as he could gain men, he had lost them just as simply.

“You watch your words, you’re lucky I haven’t put you in a cell.” The lost king dared me to continue; but I don’t back down from challenges.

“Right, so I can escape  _ twice, _ like the Kingslayer?” I questioned. The last time someone spoke down to Robb, his great uncle had put them in place, but the man just looked amused by my gall. “ _ And _ If you’d listened to your advisers instead of snipping Lord Karstark’s neck, you wouldn’t have lost  _ half _ your men or the faith of my uncle.  _ Your decisions _ have lost you: your prized captive, your home and potentially your brothers, the Freys, the Karstarks, and Dorne. You could’ve had the _ entire _ continent united against the Lannisters, if only you were  _ smarter _ .”

It was easy to pick apart his actions, what went wrong and how it happened. I’ve been left alone, under lock and key, for weeks on end. The only thing I’ve been allowed to do was think. 

Most of all, I hated that I still sympathised with him, if only he had trusted me. 

“My decisions have won battles, overrun the Kingslayer leading to his capture, and they have won back the Freys. I will  _ win _ this war, get my sisters _ and _ brothers back, and I  _ will  _ have justice doing it. ” I admired his determination, but he just couldn’t see his cards as clearly as I could.

“There’s no use in fighting you, you wouldn’t listen to my warnings anyways.” I sighed, standing up and turning towards the only source of relief I’d be getting, “I could use a good spar. What do you say boys, best out of three?” 

Rand and Ulvar agreed. The three of us making our way to a clearing that was still solid in the rain. We’d fight out our frustration. 

I silently prayed that this would all be some joke. Walder Frey just wanted to see Robb grovel. He wasn’t actually going to send men, Robb would realise it was over, and I’d get to go home.


	11. 10 - Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before what is about to go down at the Twin's, I thought I'd give everyone a break from moody Soare tm. So here a series of flashbacks, some important, some fluff. Enjoy.

**288 AC**

We were in the Water Gardens, the summer home of House Martell. Father had chosen to raise us there, in a place of peace where none could judge him or his children for our parentage. More importantly there’d be few to spread word of his habits.

Nym had just gotten me a whip for my sixth name day, her and Bara were keen to teach to use it. Sarella giggling from the sidelines everytime I failed.

My small arms and poor concentration were no help to me. If I wanted to be as good a fighter as Daddy, I need to keep trying.

“It's really not that hard to aim” Nymeria always loved to mock. She was so prideful in her own abilities.

“You weren’t that good when you started. It took you months to figure the right grip.” Obara was much kinder to me than anyone else.

My two eldest sisters were so very different in that regard. 

Nym still resented me for never knowing a life besides the one our father gave. Ellaria hadn’t yet grown on her either; Sara and I were easier for father’s paramour to love, there wasn’t a prior life to compare to. Obara and Nymeria, as well as Tyene though she never cared too much about it, had grown accustomed to their lives in Dorne. All motherless, and on the occasion that he travelled and did it without them, fatherless too.

Obara could remember her mother, she spent the first four or so years of her life with the whore of Oldtown. She often states she’s glad to have been removed from a fate of mending torn clothes and giving herself to grotesque men. She knew her life could have been far worse than father’s bedfellow trying to surrogate her.

Nymeria was the daughter of a Volantine noble woman, she used to dream of what her life could have been. As much of a fighter as she’d become, she used to never want it.

One of my first memories was of a fight she had gotten into with father. I don’t remember what it was about, but I recall it ending with her shouting that he had stolen her away from a true lady’s life with her mother. But that wasn’t true, and she had been told of such; an unwed noble woman of Volantis would not have her virtue questioned, she all but shipped Nym to Dorne in a box. The only life she was missing was that of being despised.

Both had welcome Tyene into the family as she too could never have a mother. It was rather scandalous for a septa to entertain affections, a shock the woman hadn’t been stripped of title for being found pregnant. Since father took her in he’s never told anyone her name to save her reputation, a kindness not many would give.

The others being five to ten years older than me, you’d assume I got on the best with Sarella. After all, only two years were in between us; but as with Nym and Bara, as similar as we were, we would always differ. Sarella wanted to know the world: where she came from, what were they like, how everything became the way it is, how we know what we know is true. I wanted to know how things worked: why was Doran crowned and not father, why people listen to the king when most had never met him, why we crowned the leader of the rebellion and not the man who actually killed the last one. I wanted political knowledge and she historical; how lucky for us that father had spent time at the Citadel.

As a keepsake, he had kept the Maester’s links he earned and forged. He once joked ‘perhaps I’ll have six girls and give you each one’.

For five years I was the youngest, always the one being trained. Bara was almost sure father would not want any more children, he had lost my mother to childbed on their voyage back from Esos. And while that may not mean much, father was always known for getting around, but ever since he’s worn a woman's ring around his neck. None of us asked, assuming he’d never tell anyway.

But then, Lord Uller had come to court in sync with our visit and the bastard of Hellholt came back to the Gardens with us.

She was heavily pregnant during my nameday, so we couldn’t do as much celebrating as promised. Tyene and Sara had promised we’d run off to the beaches or the markets of Planky Town to make up for it.

Here I was, not three weeks into being six and as the day grew longer I was getting closer and closer to being an older sister. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it either. I loved that I would have more in common with my sisters; I’d be looked at in the same light that I look at them. But, I couldn’t help but feel envious towards the babe.

It’s mother would be alive, and would love it, and cherish it like no other. I would never have that, none of the other girls would either. We were the last of Oberyn’s motherless kids. I feared that Ellaria wouldn’t care for us as much now that she had her own, or even worse that we’d all be spirited away and replaced. I knew it was nonsense and father would never do such a thing, but my little mind worried it all the same.

The minute we had been informed in the courtyard that we had a little sister was the same that word had reached from Sunspear. Doran had successfully asked the King to legitimize me. I wasn’t the youngest anymore and nor was I a Sand.

I wept the entire night. The thing I was most proud of was stripper from me without consideration. When I finally did sleep, I dreamt all sorts of horrible things. My new sister, Elia, would grow to hate me as would the others. Constantly taunting me because of Doran’s favour. Maybe I should stay in Sunspear with the weaker seed. Why do I think I’m better than them, I’ll never be better than them. They might not have mothers but at least they didn’t kill theirs.

All those remnants from my nightmare had followed me for days, like a chant on repeat. I could hear each one of their voices as if they were speaking to me now.

Because of those fears and the attention little Elia was already receiving, I believed them to be true. 

I sought comfort in Arianne, she was always kind and never judged me for any of my dumb questions. She always treated me like the sister she never had, but desperately craved. She was the one who offered I come stay in the Sun Tower with her in the capital. And so I did.

**…**

**290 AC**

I was still troubled with nightmares, I had been ever since Elia was born. Though they have grown in complexity since then. 

Just last night I dreamt father had been killed by a lion and a grown Elia screaming I could have saved him. It wasn’t the first time I had seen something so strange, I had dreamt of stags killing direwolves in sheepskin, and of the Greenblood freezing over. Arianne assured me that my mind’s just hyper-active.

The two of us were taking the trip from sunspear to meet my newest sister, Obella. It was also an excuse for Arie to reconnect with Tyene, the two were raised together and used to be connected at the hip.

“You’ll be glad to go home? Surely you don’t have the same fears as when you were six.” The twelve year old girl asked.

“No, I don’t think they hate me because I have more sisters or because my surname changed. It’s quite possible they hate me because I left.” I was remorseful for leaving the Gardens in the first place. Father had let me go and he _ did  _ write to me ever so often; the snakes might bear ill will, but surely father won’t.

“You let those dreams of yours get to you. You give them too much credit and we’ll have to make you a priestess.” Arie always thought she had the best jokes, however dumb they were she could always make me laugh.

“Be warned, dear cousin, for the night is dark and full of terrors.” I replied in all seriousness.

It was only seconds before the two of us cracked, succumbing to a fit of giggles. Blinded by our hysterics, we barely heard in time when Ser Manfrey, our fathers’ cousin, had announced our arrival.

I was quickly snapped out of it when I saw Obara approaching. She had grown broader in the two years since I’d left, ever more warrior-esque.

“Cousin,” She greeted. “Sister, you look well. I hope you aren’t too much of a lady now to train with us.”

I watched her twirl a spear nonchalantly as I got down from my horse.

“If you’d have me.”

I was hopeful; maybe I was wrong, they didn’t hate me. And Arieanne was right, I do put too much stock in my dreams.

“Always, we could use a friend in high places. Come, father will be delighted with your arrival. And besides, you wouldn’t want to miss the show.” She smirked, leading us to the training grounds.

“What show?” Arianne was shortly answered when we saw what was in front of us.

It was quite the event; Sarella sat on the ground entertaining who I’m sure is Elia, Bara occasionally shouting out tips, Ellaria and the babe cheering from the side, and front and center was Nym and Tyene both fighting father.

Both my sister’s were sweating and looked exhausted, but he was smiling.

As soon as he noticed our arrival, he swiftly disarmed Tyene and pulled Nym by her whip, disrupting her footing.

“Nym! You were supposed to have my back!” The now thirteen year old Tyene whined.

“You’ll never be good if I’m always fighting for you.” Nym grumbled, getting up from where she fell.

“Arianne, how nice of you to visit.” Father greeted her warmly, “Look how you’ve grown, my  _ fata dulce _ . Come, tell how you’ve been. What have you been getting up to at court?”

When he spoke with my mother’s tongue, I knew my fears were irrational. And by the end of the day it was like I had never left.

**…**

**296**

I had grown to love Sunspear. All the important Dornish Lords that come through to meet with Doran, and all the parties they had held. I grew quite close to a castle guard and one of the trainees. 

Lord Quentyn Qorgyle’s middle child was a very arrogant man, but I found he’s bluntness to be quite funny at times. Everyone spoke of how honored they must be for the naming honors they’d received, Lord Qorgyle named his son after the Crowned Prince and Doran returned the favor, but the man preferred his nickname: Rand. 

Ulvar was a different story. He was the first to train with me in Sunspear, all the others were afraid of hurting me and the rath that would incur from my father. He joked that they were all just scared of losing. Var was really sweet and kind despite how some treated him. He had once confided in me that he didn’t know who his father was and given that his mother lives on the border of The Dornish Marshes, most speculate his father to be of the Reach and some mock him for it.

I had also taken a liking to one of Arianne's ladies in waiting, Elyane. She was also from the far east, a pirate had tried to sell her in Plankytown after having raided the slave ship taking her to Asshai. She couldn’t remember her home much and always said that Dorne was now. I tried to steal as much time with her as I could.

I remember when Lord Fowler brought his children to the castle. He had his twins, Jeyne and Jennelyn, appointed to Arianne and his son Deamos was to be engaged. The Lord of Skyreach was a proud man, his family had been kings a thousand years ago and they were one of the few houses with First Men blood in Dorne. 

The twins were a little too girly for my liking, but Deamos and I got on well. We’d roam the castle grounds in search of secret hideaways and tunnels. He’d tell me all about his favorite spots in the Red Mountains, and how he rescued a hawk with a broken wing. We were insanely competitive, if I trained daily so would he.

We once even made the mistake of betting on who was better with a sword. We decided the best way to find out was to spar with someone else simultaneously. We could fight each other, we both knew our weaknesses and strategies too well. Unfortunately, Rand and Var were both preoccupied at the time. Which left us with a very amused and far too eager Areo Hotah. It took him three minutes to take down Daemos and a minute later and I was out as well.

“She’s your Lady, you were going easy on her.” The boy of eighteen stated sourly.

“I’m younger than you and I’m a girl, you’re just a sore loser.” I mocked.

“You are both adequate for your age,” The gentle giant of a man spoke trying to break up a future fight.

“Adequate! I lasted longer, I’m more than  _ adequate _ .”

“You are quite adept with a sword, spear, or throwing knives. I was under the impression that you wanted to be a truly great fighter, much like your father. Most deserving of legends have a mastery in one type of arms, but can use the rest all the same. And your bow arm could use some work.” Areo Hotah kindly bids us goodbye as he was called back to his post.

“Leave it to a Norvosi to inspire you with an insult.”

“Well, coming from him, I’d take adequate as a compliment.” He laughed. “Hey so I’m not supposed to tell you this, but it didn’t work out anyway. Remember I told you my father came here to make an engagement for me?”

“Course. Gods that must be dreadful, having no choice.”

“Well, … yea. Anyways, Arie wasn’t an option, so my father asked for you.”

I responded in a nervous giggle, “What?”

“Don’t worry about it though, your father said no.” He threw out quickly.

“Yours must have taken it as an insult, I’m sorry. And I’m definitely not helping by laughing.” I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut.

“A nervous habit, it’s fine.” He smiled, “I mean no offense, but I’m kind of glad Prince Oberyn said no. I want to join the Night’s Watch.” He finished proudly.

“You want to what? The Night’s Watch? But it’s so cold and they're all criminals!”

“Which is why they need good men. And besides we’ve all heard the stories about how and why The Wall was built… aren’t you curious?”

“Maybe, but not enough to sign away my life.” I wagered.

“My house words are ‘Soar High’, what else is taller than The Wall? I’m gonna do it. But, I’ll make you one promise: I won’t do anything stupid unless it gives me a good death.”

“Taking the Black  _ is _ stupid.”

“You’re really gonna be a  _ smartass _ to me on my last day?”

“Leave, who needs you? I’d rather not spend time with the  _ uneducated _ anyways.” I lifted my chin to look down on him.

“Oh, go back to your father you  _ brat _ .” He glared back.

A minute of silence passed before we leapt at each other, sharing in a familial like embrace.

“I’ll miss you. Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?” I pulled back first to study my friend, his wide smile and freckles as numerous as the stars.

“I’m not sure they’d let you visit, but you can always write.” He answered giving my shoulders a light squeeze.

“But your hand is shit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fata Dulce is sweet girl in Romanian, which is the language I've decided the YiTish speak (Soare's mother is from Yi Ti). Also soare means sun or sunshine.


	12. 11 - Naivety

“I believe this is where we part ways, my lady. I am to prepare my men at Seagard to take the Moat.”

“And miss the wedding? I don’t think Lord Frey would take too kindly to your absence Ser.”

“A good thing I don’t take orders from him then.” Jason smiled in reply, “You’ve no doubt noticed the absence of Galbert and Maege? They’ve been sent ahead to Greywater Watch, I’ll be joining them.”

“Enjoy your short return home.” I was fully aware of the poor company I was.

“I know you do not wish to be here, in this manner, but I would remind you of your oath. I do not trust Lord Frey, it may yet be a trap, and Robb is far too desperate for men to walk away from it.” The tourney knight sighed, “I do hope to see you again, Miss Martell. And when I do, I should like to be winning this war.”

After bidding me farewell, I watched as he split from our retinue. Jason Mallister and all the men sworn to his house took their march west.

I envied them. Their ability to leave and be home within the week. Even if they were just going to saddle up and rejoin the fight. I craved for the Water Gardens, for the sun, my sisters, my cousins, and my father. They felt half a world away.

The rest of Robb’s camp continued onward, north to the Twins. We must have been only a few days out. Our route was east of the Green Fork and west of the Kingsroad in an attempt to stave off spys sending word of our movements.

“Do you think we’re ever going to go home?” Elyane pulled her steed next to mine.

“I hope so.” I sighed. I watched as up ahead Robb conversed with his uncle. I knew with the promise of much needed men, he would never let me go.

“You hope so? We’re not invited to the wedding, a perfect chance for escape. Everyone who could pose a potential problem will be in the Twins, drunk.” Rand had a point.

“ _ If _ we did, we’d have to wait for it to get dark.” Ulvar pointed out.

“So, what are our orders then?” Rand asked as both men turned to look at me.

“The Stark camp gets a wedding, and we get to go home.”

**…**

We had arrived at The Twins. Roose Bolton had arrived shortly after, bringing the men he had garrisoned at Harrenhal.

Robb wanted to keep my presence a secret still, so us southerners kept hidden within the camp that surrounded one of the castles.

The soldiers were all ready drinking and forming circles for wrestling.

“This is no sight for a Lady, but you’re the camps best kept secret.” The Greatjon announced his presence, “I don’t trust Walder Frey, and I’m starting to not trust Bolton either. Before he left for The Neck, Galbert told me his men were led into a slaughter at Duskendale; Roose sent them there.”

“You think he’s trying to sabotage Robb?” My interest peaking.

“The Bolton’s have always been bitter over Stark rule, even more so since Eddard outlawed flaying. He’s been left alone for months now and his bastard holds Winterfell. If anyone were to betray the King, he’s in the best position to do so.”

“What are you going to do? And why are you telling me?”

“My gut keeps telling me to trust you. Your advice has yet to be wrong and you haven’t sold us out. I’m not going to do anything, I take orders from my King not my suspicions.” The burly man looked out over the camp and sighed before continuing. 

“I have a feeling you’ve already planned an escape route. You’re within reason to do so, I won’t be telling anyone of your plans. In the case that this is a trap, you best know our code. If we are to die or be held prisoner, I’m leaving the cause and the protection of the Starks in your hands as you’re honor bound to do so.” He handed me a scroll containing a cypher.

“If the North needs to be taken back, say those words to any good lord and the deed ‘ill be done. I’m off to see a wedding, wouldn't want to miss what the old ferret has in store.”

The Lord of Last Hearth joined the ranks of men about to enter the Twins. I caught the eye of Roose Bolton as he looked over the camp. I don’t know if it was because Ser Mallister and the Greatjon had worries of a trap, but the look Roose gave before entering the castle was not comforting.

Instead of concerning myself with northern conspiracies, I headed back to the three tents belonging to my friends and I.

“Are we all packed?” I asked once entering my own.

“Almost, I think the boys are done though.” Elly answered, folding the last of my dresses and tucking it into a horse satchel. 

“How are we going to get this stuff to the horses unnoticed?”

As if to he heard the question himself, Ulvar walked through the tent flaps.

“I brought our horses, Rand has them in our tents.”

“Wouldn’t someone notice four hourses are missing?” I questioned. Everything had to be just right, this was our one chance of escape.

“No, squires have been taking the men's horses to be fed and watered.” Ulvar smiled at me, “Everything is going to plan, we’ll be on the road home in no time.”

“This might actually work.”

“Now all we need is for it to get dark.” Elly mused.

**Inside The Twins**

“My honoured guests, be welcome within my walls and at my table. I extend to you my hospitality and protection in the light of the Seven.” Lord Frey announced from his high seat.

“We thank you for your hospitality, my lord. I have come to make my apologies, my lord, and to beg your forgiveness.” Robb Stark presented with as much civility as a priest.

“Don’t beg my forgiveness, Your Grace. It wasn’t me you spurned. It was my girls. One of them was supposed to be queen. Now _ none _ of them are.” Walder Frey paused giving enough time for the aforementioned ladies to step forward, “This is Arwyn, my daughter. My daughter Walda, my daughter Derwa, my daughter Waldra. My eldest granddaughters Ginia and Neila. Serra and Sarra, granddaughters, twins. You could have had either. Could have had both, for all I care.” The old man mused.

As the introductions continued, Edmure looked over each girl in attempt to count his loses.

“My granddaughter Marianne. My granddaughter Freya. My granddaughter…Wertha? Waldra? Waldina?” 

“I’m Merry.” The lack of care given to each guess grew tiresome on the poor girl.

“Fine. And here’s my youngest daughter Shirei, though she hasn’t bled yet. Clearly you don’t have the patience for all that.” Walder finished.

The man was truly vile, but he held all the cards. So the young wolf continued on with the pleasantries and trying to win Walder’s forgiveness.

“My ladies. All men should keep their word, kings most of all. I was pledged to marry one of you and I broke that vow. The fault is not with you. Any man would be lucky to have any one of you. I did what I did not to slight you, but because I loved another. I know these words cannot set right the wrong I have done to you and your house. I beg your forgiveness and pledge to do all I can to make amends so the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends.” During his speech the King gave the girls his attention, but when he finished his eyes looked to whom it was actually meant for.

“Very good.” Walder admonished the young man of guilt. The Freys already had the perfect amends in mind to repay this grievance.

“There she is,” The lord spotted Robb’s wife. “Come closer. Let me have a look at you.” He ordered the nurse forward. “Still can’t see you. Old eyes.”

She looked to her husband before closing more distance between her and the slimey old rat.

“Love. That’s what the Starks of Winterfell call it, eh? Very honourable. I call it a pretty face. Mmm. Very pretty. Prettier than this lot, that’s for sure.” He mused.

“Very shapely as well. Oh, you try to hide her under that dress. If you wanted to hide her, you shouldn’t have brought her here in the first place. I can always see what’s going on beneath a dress. Been at this a long time. I bet when you take that dress off, everything stays right where it is. Doesn’t drop an inch. Your king says he betrayed me for love. I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit.” The old man continued, as if trying to anger or disgust everyone else in the room.

“And I can respect that. When I was your age, I’d have broken oaths to get into that without a second thought.” He finished his inspection of the girl to start on more serious matters, “Well, I’ve enough room in the hall for you lot. We’ll set up tents outside with food and ale for the rest of your men.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The young King said through gritted teeth and balled fists.

“Well, let’s get ready. The wine will flow red and the music will play loud and we’ll put this mess behind us.” The Lord stood, with a soft clap signaling to his servants to begin their work.

**Outside the Twins**

At this point it was just a waiting game. None of us had any idea what was going on inside, all we knew is that the cover of nightfall couldn’t come quick enough.

We were all waiting for the sun to set in my tent; with me pacing around in circles, Elyane watching me like a hawk, Ulvar occasionally trying to distract me from ‘what ifs’, and Rand sharpening his knife.

“Is it wrong that I actually hope things go well for him?” Elyane asked while nervously playing with her hands.

“Not entirely; he has a good cause and somewhat reasonable expectations.”

“Am I drunk, or did Durand just give someone a compliment?” Ulvar joked, eyebrow cocked.

“You didn’t let me finish. He’s trying to use Northern morality in the south, and because of that he’ll lose. His advisers make decisions without him, he has little to no political knowledge, and he thinks he can survive on trust.” He summarised. “But he hasn’t backed down from a challenge, I’ll give him that.”

“I can’t help but feel guilty. Without Dornish troops he’ll lose this war. It’s not worth my imprisonment, but if they lose at least half of these men will die and more will be imprisoned themselves. I’m not sure I’m okay with that.”

**Further Outside the Twins**

A stolen cart full of salted pork sat on a hillside, overlooking two castles connected by a bridge.

A tall, gruff man with burns on his face sat himself on the cart, eating the pigs feet.

A young boy, no, a girl gazed wistfully upon the twin castles. She turned back to her kidnapper, the man in knights armour.

“No one’s going to believe you’re a hog farmer if you eat them all.” The girl was trying to hide her emotions, but the former knight could see straight through it.

“Best part of the animal.” He paused wiggling the meat at her. “Don’t worry. They’re still there.”

The girl hadn’t seen her family in such a long time. It had been almost two years since Kings Landing, since her father was alive.

“I know they’re still there.” She was getting quite good at removing emotion from her features, and yet he saw her all the same.

“You check every five minutes like you’re afraid they’re gonna move.” The man pointed out.

“I’m not afraid.” She was still trying to convince herself.

“Of course you are. You’re almost there and you’re afraid you won’t make it. The closer you get, the worse the fear gets. No point in trying to hide behind that face. I know fear when I see it. Seen it a lot.”

The girl and the Hound continued their bickering. But she knew he was right. She was so close and yet so far away.

**Inside the Twins**

The trout had married. Everyone was enjoying the feast, all drinking and laughing.

“He complained about this marriage the entire ride from Riverrun, and now look at him.” The older sister mused over the actions of her brother.

“The Gods love to reward a fool.” The unmarried Brynden Tully answered.

“Uncle.” Catelyn was well aware of his judgement towards Edmure, but saying it in public was something different.

“What? He’s my nephew. I love him. And he’s a damned fool.” The Blackfish was ever concise.

The Lady noticed a servant about to pour wine into the man next to hers cup. She couldn’t help but be slightly put off when he covered his cup with his hand.

“Don’t you drink, Lord Bolton?”

“Never do, my lady. Dulls the senses.” His answer did not help.

“That’s the point.” Her uncle cut in. “Didn’t you marry one of these Frey girls?”

“Aye. Lord Walder let me choose any of his granddaughters and promised me the girl’s weight in silver as a dowry.” He explained. “So I have a fat young bride.”

At that the Blackfish laughed. Though Catelyn was as serious as ever.

“I hope she makes you very happy.” The red haired Tully turned Stark was far kinder to the man than she need be.

“ Well, she’s made me very rich.” Lord Bolton replied.

“Pardon, my lord, my lady. I need to find a tree to piss on.” The Blackfish took his leave.

At another table, the King in the North sat with his wife, surveying the peacefulness of drunken men.

“My mother’s alone with Roose Bolton. I should rescue her.” Robb noticed his uncle’s leave.

“Your mother is less in need of rescue than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“Be kind. She’s finally starting to like you.”

“And I like her. But if she had her way, I would be back in Volantis playing my harp and you would be sitting over there, eating blackberries out of Roslin Frey’s hand.” She tilted her head towards his uncle doing exactly that.

Lord Frey had initiated the bedding ceremony. After the newlyweds had left the room, the doors were sealed.

**Outside The Twins**

The girl and her Hound are turned away, the feast is over.

**...**


	13. 12 - Things We Lost In The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. This is that chapter. The Red Wedding. Fair warning, bad stuff happens. There will be death and violence, and unfortunately an assault. I'm going to try to make it as user friendly as possible without loosing meaning. I don't take it lightly, and I didn't write it in as something to do.
> 
> Everyone suffered and lost something at the Red Wedding, it wouldn't make sense for Soare and Co. to make it out scott free. 
> 
> trigger warning: rape, suicidal thoughts

I got tired of pacing my tent and decided to walk the grounds of our encampment. Funny, I called it ‘our’, though I had never truly been a part of this camp.

I watched men wrestle and drink and laugh, all of them forgetting the war they had started. I turned my eyes to the Twins curious as to what went on inside.

Frey men were gathering by the doors. I watched in confusion as they turned away commoners who had brought food as a gift for the feast.

I frowned at the sight, but decided to ignore it. Before the night ended it would no longer be of my concern.

It was getting dark and it was almost time for our departure. I turned from overlooking the castle gates and started the trek back through the thick of the camp, back to my friends.

I was about to pass the large cage they kept the Direwolf in. Having never really seen the beast, I stopped to take a look.

Greywind was far larger than any dog or wolf I had ever seen, a northern legend indeed. He was standing when I got close enough to see clearly through the bars. 

I felt like a little girl seeing a puppy for the first time. Against my better judgement, I slowly inched my hand up to the metal bars of the cage. I was crouching beside the animal’s confinement, full aware that the creature could eat me whole if it wanted to. And yet when I heard no growls and only received a head tilt as answer to my presence, I did exactly what my eight year old sister would. I stuck my hand in.

To my surprise, I lost no fingers. In fact, the beast had even moved closer for me to pet him. As I continued to stroke the soft grey and brown fur of the large and surely dangerous beast, I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh, I should have approached you a long time ago.” I was talking to the beast as if he understood me, I haven’t a clue why.

“Rea and Rez are going to be entirely jealous when I tell them I’ve pet a Direwolf.” I smiled at the rather friendly beast. “Father will think me an idiot, and he’s not wrong.”

The boisterous laughter of drunk men reminded me of where I was, I had no time to be acting so childish.

“I believe I have to go. Maybe one day we’ll see each other again. And in that case, be nice to my sisters.” I laugh to myself, the image of the girls squealing with delight and barely containing themselves whilst trying to get a hold of the  _ fluffy _ beast playing in my head.

As I slowly got up, the direwolf whined. At first I thought he simply missed my affection, but then the direwolf whimpered. I gave it a closer look and nothing seemed to be wrong. But then I caught it’s eyes; I have never seen such a human emotion in an animal. What stared back at me was anxiety and pure fear.

**Inside The Twins**

Catelyn Stark was a perceptive woman. As she had watched the doors to the hall close, her weariness grew. What did not help quite her anxieties was the change in music; the soft and mild tempo of cellos filled the hall, the band was playing The Rains of Castamere.

“Your Grace.” Lord Frey addressed his audience, holding up his hand for the music to stop.

The whole room quieted, men all looking toward Robb Stark who stood center stage in this evenings play. Walder waited for everyone to return to their seats before he continued.

“I feel I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat and wine and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve.” Lord Walder stood from his high table, wine goblet in hand.

As the lord spoke Catelyn looked to Roose on her right, the look in his eyes disquieting. He looked down to his arm and the lady did the same.

“My king has married and I owe my new queen a wedding gift.” Walder continued.

Catelyn peeled back Lord Bolton’s sleeve, revealing chainmetal. It was a trap, her mind realled. She slapped the man and moved to her feet. Shouting helplessly for her firstborn, “Robb!”.

But she was too late. One of Lord Frey’s sons withdrew a dagger from his sleeve and was at the Queen before anyone had time to react.

Crossbows were fired, necks were slit, and an unborn child was butchered inside its mother.

All the while Walder Frey drank his wine and smiled.

**Outside The Twins**

I had walked a considerable amount away from the kennel, but all these warning signs kept flashing in my mind. I had almost started walking back towards the beast when I saw soldiers marching, no, running out of the Twins, a determination in their eyes.

I started running, desperately searching for my friends. 

Fires broke out left, right, and center. What was once hearty laughter was now grunts, screams, and strangled cries.

It was a trap. A horrible, bloody trap. Men were dying all around me and there was nothing I could do about it.

I kept running, dodging burning tents and evading killers. I soon began to realise that Frey men were being joined by those pledged to Roose Bolton.

When I had finally reached our tents, they were empty. It filled my heart with hope to see those tents empty and spotless. It meant that they were still alive. But, now I’d have to find them in all this chaos.

I pulled the makhaira father had given to me from a hidden pocket of my dress. I would have hoped to not need to use the dagger, but fate has different dreams than I.

I turned around and left the tent that was once filled with the laughter of my closests friends. A mere second after leaving and the tent went up in flames.

I don’t know how, but it had gotten worse. One man’s screams were indistinct from another. I don’t think there was a tent left not engulfed in flames.

As I was looking for my friends, I watched soldiers hang a man from a tree and another being dragged off while screaming over the loss of his legs.

“Soare!”

I spun around catching the eyes of the only person I had shared my bed with. I almost cried as I ran towards her. Escape was in sight, I just had to reach out and grab it.

She was distracted and it was my fault. All I could do was watch as a man came running, it only took seconds for him to land a long, clean slash through her torso.

The dress she had made by hand before leaving filled with dark crimson. Her hands helplessly clutched the gash in an effort to stem the bleeding. Her figure blurring in the night.

I watched it all as if it weren’t happening, it wasn’t real. Men were shouting and running haphazardly around us, but I couldn’t see them. All I heard was the coughing and gurgling of my first love’s last words as blood clogged her airways.

“I… la...love…” Elyane choked on her own blood before she could finish.

I stared at her, laying dead on the ground in front of me. I knew I was crying from the steady stream running down my cheeks and neck.

I did this. I made her come to the Water Gardens with me. I was the one who suggested she come north. I didn’t let us leave in the night months ago when we still could’ve. I wandered off. I was the one she was looking for. I distracted her.

It was then that I noticed I was screaming. Minutes or hours could’ve gone by, I couldn’t tell. My chest heaved and my throat was sore, but I didn’t care. I only stopped screaming to promptly bend over and vomit.

After wiping my mouth with shaky hands, I approached her. Stroking her cheek and closing her eyes. She was so lifeless and her eyes so dull.

My tears weren’t as hot anymore, and I refused to let myself sob or fall apart even more than I already had. 

My father’s words came to me, ‘A fight is no place for emotions. If you give in to them, you are lost.’. 

And so I stood up, tightened my grip on the blade he had given me, and continued on. I could mourn her later, I had to get home, and if I could I would avenge her.

I didn’t get very far. I was soon surrounded by at least eight men.

“Looky here, this one’s pretty.” He turned to his brothers at arms.

“Oh, I know her,” One of them shouted. “That’s the Dornish girl.”

I clutched my dagger tighter. I did a slow spin, taking in all the men. I was sizing them up to see if I could take them. Who would run and who could actually fight.

“You were the only variable the whole time. This thing could have gone very differently if the dead king trusted you.”

Dead King. He said dead king. Robb’s dead; and most likely everyone else in that wedding as well. I don’t know what I was expecting, if there was a massacre in the camp surely there was one inside also. 

“Lord Bolton has plans for you, girl.”

I might have been reeling from prior events, but thank the gods my subconscious is still in tact. As soon as the first man stepped towards me, my muscle memory took over. 

I slashed my dagger to the left, cutting his arm.

“We’ve got a fighter, Rollo.” Another man laughed.

“He always did like a challenge,” Someone behind me added.

“I am a fighter. Trained by the best. And I don’t think you want my father-” I tried to scare them off.

“Your father? He’s old and half the country away. It’d take months to get here.”

“Your daddy can’t save you now little girl.”

They were closing in, forming a ring around me. I knew I couldn’t fight them off all by myself. I prayed for Ulvar or Durand to find me.

“She’s not so little though, let's say we take turns.”

“Aye. Step right up gentlemen, we’re having ourselves an early reward!” 

The Bolton men laughed, and my heart raced as more began to join their ranks.

It happened quick, four of them grabbing at me, trying to get a feel. I swiped and stabbed and nicked everyone of them that got too close. But it was no use, they kept coming, and I couldn't guard my own back.

“Hold her down,”

I was pushed to the ground. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, as I was kicking and thrashing about. I had managed to stab two men in the gut, I would not go quietly.

“Will you hold her still, for the Mother’s sake.”

Three of them had my arms and shoulders pinned down.

I started to cry, from grief, from stress, for what was about to happen, and for the fact that I couldn’t stop it.

My vision blurred, my body tensed, and my skirts were lifted.

I can’t remember If I had screamed or not, nor how many had had their turn.

I was shaking. I wanted to go numb, no I wished for death. My only solace was that Elyane had died before seeing me fail.

“That’s a good girl, just give in.”

I couldn’t hear them anymore. I heard voices all over, saying different things with the same meaning:

‘ _ You’ll never be good if I’m always fighting for you’ _

_ ‘You’re average for your age’ _

_ ‘You can do better than that, Princess’ _

_ ‘... Don’t expect me to save you. I’ve already given you the tools to save yourself.’ _

I wanted nothing more than to be saved. To be my sisters equal. To have learned anything from my sparring sessions. But nothing prepared me for an ambush.

As my senses faded in and out, I faintly heard a sword being drawn.

“I suggest you scurry back to the gutter you came from.”

I rolled my head to the side and blinked a few times for my eyes to focus enough to see who was talking.

As soon as I recognized him, another sword was drawn this time to my right.

“An old man and a squire? I doubt it.” The man pulled himself from me, fixing his trousers and unsheathing his sword.

I laid there limp, like a used ragdoll. I don’t know if I care what’s happening anymore.

Every few seconds I was glad to feel fresh warm blood spray upon my face. It enlivened me.

I decided I was going to stand and fight and let one of them kill me; better a martyr than spoiled goods.

By the time I weakly stood up, the fight was over. My knees were ready to buckle, and I could no longer feel below my waist. But I kept a firm grip on my dagger.

I looked at the ground that was now scattered with bodies. My earlier count was wrong, I could see twelve dead men. Most had House Bolton as their sigil.

“Find horses, and get her out of here. You understand?” The first of my saviours sounded, surveying the camp turned battlefield.

“Come with us.” The other said. I think he was my friend.

I could feel both of their eyes on me, the idea made me shiver.

“I’m a Tully. I belong in the Riverlands, and I will fight to get back my family’s home.” He paused.

I was slowly regaining my spacial awareness. I could distantly hear the fight dying down. The two men, whom I now recognised as Brynden Tully and Durand Qorglye, kept a healthy distance. I think they were trying not to startle me.

“And besides, they know I escaped. This scum is only looking for me.” The only known surviving Tully gave us a nod of respect before turning off to find escape and refuge of his own.

“Are you alright? Did they-”

“Never ask me that question again.” I croaked out. “They tried and failed, that is all people will ever need to know.”

My best path was to lie. I may be broken now, but I have the ride home to cope.

“As you wish. Ulvar has the horses and our things by the tree line, we should look-”

“She’s dead. I watched. I never want to see this kingdom ever again.”

With the last of my strength depleted, I blacked out. The last thing I heard was distant shouting.

**...**

Closer to the gates, the little girl was coming to. Her Hound was making an escape for the two of them. Unfortunately, he hadn't made it far enough away to save the girl from such a sight.

The last time little Arya Stark saw her brother was a bloodied, headless corpse. They were parading him around, tied to a frightened horse. She knew now why they had killed his direwolf. Greywind's head was sewn in place of Robb's.

**...**

Beyond the Wall a white wolf howled out to his siblings in grief. From the Nightfort, to the Gift, and to the wilderness of the Riverlands; The Stark direwolves howled through the night.


	14. 13 - A Great Lion & A Kind Ghost

“Are you going to tell me what happened? Where you found her? How you know Elyane’s dead?”

“None of it is mine to tell, you’ll have to wait for her to wake. Now will you be still, Ulvar, I’m trying to stitch you up.” The older of the two sat beside his friend, trying to attend to the gash on his shoulder.

“Rand the nurse? Would have never guessed. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried over her.” He cast his eyes towards the unconscious figure of Soare Martell.

They had ridden through the night, determined to put distance between themselves and the Twins. Durand, figuring it best not to share more than what Soare would have appreciated, said nothing of the matter.

He recalls barely making it to the treeline unnoticed after having separated from the Blackfish. But he was most glad to see his friend waiting for him. How both of them greeted each other with confusion; Ulvar over the limp princess and missing handmaiden, and Rand over the blood slowly leaking from his friend’s shoulder and the cut to his cheek.

“As do I.” Rand sighed. “But, if you leave this be any longer, you’ll catch an infection or you’ll bleed out. And I don’t think it would help her to wake to another dead companion.”

The man began his work cleaning and closing the wound. The gash was large enough to be of concern, but small enough to not be entirely fatal. Ulvar was entirely lucky; any further to the left and he would have lost his arm, and further to the right and he would have bled out in minutes.

“I can’t believe you actually carry around a medical kit.” Ulvar tried to use humor to distract from the discomfort of the needle repeatedly puncturing his skin.

“My mother decided that if her boys were going to fight and go off to war one day, it’d be wise if at least one of us knew how to put the rest back together. That’s how I got to Sunspear in the first place, Maester Myles trained me in the art of healing.” He answered, recounting his adolescentes while finishing the stitching. 

“You’re mother sounds wise.” Ulvar winced as Durand pulled the thread tight before tying it off.

“She was.” The man stood up and tossed him a bandage. “I think she’s waking,”

Both men watched as the princess stirred and twitched before tentatively approaching where she laid by the small fire.

…

Fire. There was fire everywhere. The glint of steel. 

_ After the wedding we’re going to take the Moat. And when Jon joins us, your uncle will send men. We’ll take the Rock together. _

Screams. High and low, distant and near. The smell of burning flesh and fresh blood.

_ Well, since you’re not going to be marrying some northern boy, maybe we could go back to the way things were. _

That beautiful smile, stained red. Those warm brown eyes, drowning in fear.

_ We’re having ourselves an early reward. _

Cynical laughter, echoing on and on. 

And then nothing.

Emptiness, a pit.

Darkness, a void extending the expanse of space itself.

Voices, familiar like before but further away. Almost like whispers slowly getting louder. I could only pick up phrases here and there.

_...wait for her....be fine....dead companion….go off to war….she was _

The first thing I can feel is how sore I am. My head is pounding, my shoulders stiff, and my core feels as if I were burning right now.

I decide to leave the darkness and slowly pry my eyes open. After a few rapid blinks, I can see that I’m in the woods. I can hear birds chirping nearby and the slow rustling that comes with a river in the distance. The sky above me is pale and calm; it must be early morning.

The crackling of a fire stirs me upright.

“Soare, it’s alright. It’s just Rand and Ulvar. Are you okay?” The man with wild dark curly hair asked crouching a few feet away.

“Ulvar… you’re alive?” My throat was scratchy and my words came out more as a croke.

“He barely made it out himself, and he’s got the stitches to prove it.” Durand answered, handing me a canteen of water.

After drinking my fill, I looked over my friends. They each had new cuts and scrapes, Ulvar even had a large bandage tied around his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, I brought you here…”

“It’s not your fault. And you didn’t drag me here kicking and screaming, I signed up.” Ulvar’s kind words soon turned sour, my memory gave them double meaning.

_ Kicking and screaming,  _ that’s why my throat was sore and my legs tired. But Ulvar wasn’t mincing his words, he didn’t know, Rand hadn’t told him.

“As for me, when the Red Viper of Dorne asks something of you, it’s best not to refuse.” His face held a smile, but his eyes were full of concern.

“I know you probably don’t want to relive anything, but Rand won’t tell me what happened.”

He was right, I didn't want to remember any of it. But how could I forget. That night will live on in infamy for all of Westeros; it'll all have it's own spot burned into my memory.

I decided to tell what I could. It'd be good practice for when someone else asks and the next person might not have as much care.

“I was walking the camp when it happened. And when I had gotten back to our tents, you were all gone. I was searching for you when Elly found me.” I swallowed the sob that crept up my throat.

“I was so happy to have found her alive. But, I wasn’t watching her back and she was distracted.” I grimaced as If I could hear the sound of her flesh ripping open as we spoke. “She bled out in front of me.”

“I know you loved her, she was fierce with a kind soul. She deserved better, I’m sorry.” Ulvar said as he moved to sit beside me.

I involuntarily flinched and scooted away from him. Both men noticed. Durand sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Why… Did something...Is this why you wouldn’t tell me?”

Sensing that I was in no state to recount that part of the story, Rand sat on the log across from us and gave an abridged version of events.

“I found her with at least a dozen Freys and Boltons alike surrounding her. At least half of which were bleeding. They had her on the ground, one of them was about to… The Blackfish drew his sword before I did. I don’t know how he escaped or what his plan was, but I’m glad he was there when he was. I couldn’t have fought them all without him. Soare passed out shortly after he left and I came and found you.”

“They tried and they failed, and that will be the end of this talk.” I lied.

I knew I could trust Ulvar, there was no question of that. I just, I didn’t need anyone else looking at me the way Durand was. With pity, as if I was fragile and broken. And no one ever needed to know.

“You’re telling me we could’ve had the famous Blackfish, Brynden Tully, with us?” Ulvar swiftly changed the subject.

“I offered as much, but he is a Tully. He wants to fight for his home.”

“Where are we?” I wanted to get south and quick, no doubt Roose would have men looking for me, for us.

“We’re about a fourth of the way to Hags Mire. Is there a destination you had in mind? I figured we’d ride straight through to the Princes’ Pass.” Durand questioned.

“I need to see my father. Roose was in league with Walder, either or both of them could tell the crown of my continued presence in Robb’s camp. He could be walking into a trap.”

I did want to warn him, but I also needed him. I had never lost someone before, never seen someone die. I had also taken my first life. But, it was more than that still. I needed to know that I was still good enough, he still loved me, that I wasn’t soiled goods in his eyes. I wanted to be a little girl weeping in her father’s arms.

“King’s Landing it is.” Durand sighed. “Now that you’re awake, we should get going. With luck we’ll make it to Oldstones in a fortnight.”

**…**

**King’s Landing**

“ ‘Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. Signed, Walder Frey.’ Is that bad poetry or is it supposed to mean something?” The half-man was rather enjoying his afternoon before being called to this small council.

“Robb Stark is dead. And his bitch mother.” The Brat King was almost squealing with delight. “Write back to Lord Frey. Thank him for his service and command him to send Robb Stark’s head. I’m going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast” The lannister boy was quite pleased with himself.

“Your Grace, Lady Sansa is your aunt by marriage.” Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, warned against such an idea.

“A joke. Joffrey did not mean it.” Even the boy’s mother knew the statement was ill advised.

_ “Yes _ , I did. I’m going to have it served to Sansa at my wedding feast.” The boy king was confused. Why must everyone disobey him? They should follow his orders and thank him for it.

“No. She is no longer  _ yours _ to torment.” Tyrion defended his wife.

“ _ Everyone _ is mine to torment. You’d do well to remember that, you little monster.” He shot back.

“Oh, I’m a  _ monster _ . Perhaps you should speak to me more  _ softly _ , then. Monsters are  _ dangerous _ , and just now kings are  _ dying like flies _ .” The saviour of Blackwater Bay was far better at playing these games.

“I could have your tongue out for saying that.” All the boy could do was throw empty threats.

More threats were thrown, the smarter of men in the room staying out of it.

“I am the King! I will punish you.”

“Any man who must say, “I am the King,” is no _ true _ king. I’ll make sure you understand that when I’ve won your war for you.” Lord Tywin had enough of the squabbling.

“My father won the real war. He killed Prince Rhaegar. He took the crown while you hid under Casterly Rock!” He fired at his grandfather.

The room stilled, not in awe of the boy, but simply waiting for Tywin’s response. The Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King was the most feared man in Westeros. He’s a man who single handedly restored his family to power, and is notorious for the things he is willing to do to keep them there. There was no question who held the power in the room.

“The King is tired. See him to his chambers.” The Great Lion ordered his daughter to attend to her son.

The Grand Maester was sent of for a sleeping draught, all the while the king gripped over the order.

What was left of the small council had something else to discuss, without rash and unruly minds and mouths to interfere.

“Is there something else, my Lord?” The Spider was always a perceptive man.

“We have also received word from Lord Bolton. There were two escapes from the Twins. All though he assures me both will be promptly dealt with, I believe we may have a problem.”

“My little birds tell me of Brynden Tully’s escape, but I am unaware of the second.”

Did the Master of Whispers truly not know something, or is he withholding?

“Not many will give the Blackfish aid, and those that do just lost their armies.” Tyrion wisely presumed.

“I am not currently concerned with Brynden, the Frey’s have his nephew and he has nowhere to hide. Somehow, through the entire two years of this war, we have missed someone playing both sides.” The man turned to look at his youngest son, “You promised my granddaughter to them, and their best fighter is attending the Royal Wedding.”

“Dorne declared their neutrality, they’ve sent no men to fight on any cause-”

“Lord Bolton has explained his vigilance towards making sure such an alliance would never happen. Regardless, there was a Dornish Princess in the Northern camp for  _ over a year _ ; and you knew _ nothing _ ?”

“I could not get many spies into his camp.”

“This is quite the problem indeed. This girl could sympathise with the North, they could have signed a marriage pact for all we know, and raise an army.” Tyrion thought out loud.

“How do you suggest we deal with this interference?” The eunuch asked quietly. 

“Oberyn Martell is a veteran of the Meerenese fighting pits and has spent time as a well-renowned sellsword. He blames our family for what happened to his sister. He has want enough to bring war to our court.”

“We  _ can’t _ kill this girl, we can’t  _ imprison _ her. What is there that we  _ can  _ do?” Tyrion knew their options were limited.

“Lord Bolton planned to marry her to his bastard, he sent men to capture her during the wedding.” He paused, briefly wondering why he needed men of such low cunning. “In his foolishness, he allowed his men to assault this girl without her capture. Endearing her to the surviving Riverlords and Northern Houses. We have to find her and deliver her to her father before word of this gets out. Tyrion, you are a grand liar, I'm sure you can control the narrative.”

“How are we to get her all the way to Dorne? And ‘ _ without her capture _ ’, am I to believe that the escape was the part you disagree with?”

“As I have stressed, none of this can make it to Prince Oberyn when he arrives.”

“You knew. You knew before the Stark camp made it to the Twin’s, and you had this girl raped. You want me to lie to her father, and man whose fighting skills you yourself fear.” An image of a beautiful, young, dark-haired girl flickered in Tyrion’s mind. His first wife. Tysha. She might have truly been a whore paid for by his brother, but even a whore is not deserving of what Tywin Lannister orders.

“You will do as your family requires.”

**…**

**The Riverlands, South of the Red Fork**

We had been riding south for almost two months now. We only stopped for food if there was none to hunt. Seeing as he was the least scarred or recognisable, Durand would go into the villages for food and drink.

We stayed off the main roads and far from castles. We didn’t know who we could trust and who would sell us out.

We had crossed the Red Fork of the Trident river about a month ago. Our plan was to stay west of the Kingsroad and follow the Blackwater Rush into King’s Landing.

I wished I could forget the whole event, but it haunted me. I hadn’t gotten a peaceful night of sleep since. I was plagued by what I had witnessed, the unintelligible nightmares from my childhood had also returned, as well as visions of the various stories from drunk men in taverns that we’d heard along the way.

Apparently, everything had started after the bedding ceremony. They had killed Talisa first, several knife wounds to the stomach. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. Then, they shot crossbows into the feast. Roose had killed Robb himself followed by one of Walder’s sons killing Catelyn. I’ve heard they stripped her bare and threw her in the river, and after hearing stories of what they did to Robb’s body, I realized I no longer wanted to know.

In regards to myself, I was still hesitant and uncomfortable being too close to Ulvar or Durand. I thought I was going to die for most of our ride so far; I was pale and looked sickly, but I had thankfully stopped bleeding ten days back. It still hurt, especially riding on rough terrain, but every day I became a little more numb than the day before.

The worst, mentaly, was when Durand had noticed a cut on my arm that was still open. I had a panic attack when he tried to stitch it. I couldn’t stand being touched. He had to wait for me to pass out so he could finish.

Both we’re going along with the lie, though I have no idea whether Ulvar was aware of the deception or not. I was thankful neither of them had the gall to ask if I was okay.

The thing that kept me going was the promise of home. I would get to my father before he entered King’s Landing and I’d convince him to turn around and take me back to the Water Gardens. I’d make sure my sisters were safe and ensure they’d never leave; no one would dare touch us in Dorne.

But we’d have to make it to the Crownlands first.

“There’s a large hill up ahead, we could scout our next route from the top.”

“That’s a good idea, but what if someone’s up there? What if we’re spotted?”

“Ulvar, you worry too much. No one comes around here. The smallfolk think it’s cursed, something about the old gods and chopped down trees.” Rand assured us.

We trekked through the woods and began our hike up the north side of the mountain like hill.

“Weirwoods. Chopped down weirwoods. They call them heart trees, like the one at Riverrun, they have faces carved in them.” I knew where we were, I had heard tales of High Heart and the many ghosts that call it home.

“Oh, don’t tell us you’ve converted.” Ulvar had personally made it his job to cheer us up, but I think it was more for himself than he realised.

“I’ve never been very religious. The Seven never gave me comfort and the Red Temples seemed to fanatical. But when I stood in front of the Tully’s Godswood; I don’t know, I felt something, it’s like I couldn’t lie.” I confessed.

We were more than halfway up the hill, and I could feel the air get thicker. I could barely see the stumps of great weirwoods, but I felt their presence, old and looming.

We tied our horses to trees and continued surveying the flat top of the hill. Durand thought it might be wise to camp here for the night.

We all stopped in our place when we heard a low humming. Ulvar drew his sword and Rand pussed me behind the two of them. Though I had a blade of my own, I felt no need to unsheath it.

“You would not get much sleep beneath these trees.” A woman stepped out from the shadows, no taller than a child.

She was ghostly pale, her skin sagged with age, and she walked with help from a twisted, black cane. Most notable was her blazen red eyes, and when she looked at you it was as if she saw the whole of your soul.

“My trees will never grow and the Children are gone, but the Gods talk to me still. Why has a Princess come to this place?”

“How do you know who we are?” Rand demanded as she grew closer.

“A knight should learn better manners.”

“He’s not a knight.” But at this the woman smiled, confusing Ulvar even more.

“Put down your swords, we are the only ones here.” The men did as they were told, begrudgingly.

“But, you know we are not alone.” She addressed me. “Come, sit. The Gods have brought you to me for a reason.”

We wearily sat on some of the long dead weirwood stumps, awaiting whatever the old crone would gift or burden us with.

“I see your friend, a shining warmth. Love, one you have lost and one you may find.” She directed towards Ulvar.

“And you a knight. Many debts will be paid, with mind, with heart, and with soul.” After her reading on Durand, she paused before staring me down intensely.

“I see you, girl. A Sun without spear, The Serpent in the Woods.” I could briefly see my friends sharing confused and mildly concerned looks, as the woods witch leaned in closer to me.

“There's a part you must play. Many a lives to save, the choice must be wise. The Gods will give you their sight once more.” She reached out and touched my hand. 

“I see salt, smoke, and white fire. Things to be done and lost before you return to red and orange. I will see you again, looking through the eyes of another.”

She leaned away from me, and moved to stand.

“You may spend the night here, the Gods shall grant you sleep this night. All I ask is for payment. Sing me a song, of my dear lass that is gone. My Jenny.”


	15. 14 - Crossroads

We were travel weary.

Ulvar had run out of jokes and had begun to tell stories, fact and fiction. Durand colder than ever, he constantly questioned the reasoning behind our descent into the belly of the beast. I chose to tune both of them out for the most part. 

I had hoped to feel anything other than constant pain by now. It was stupid to think that I would have dealt with everything by now, I’ve never been good at handling my emotions. I’d much rather run away from them. Tuck them away in a box somewhere to be dealt with later; like father had done with Elia’s and my mother’s things. But you can’t run away from a haunt, it follows.

My mind was often flooded with nightmares of the past and nonsensical futures. I found myself dwelling in the dim and dreary. 

Most days I woke up to the sound of soldiers cackling and tortured screams. It had been at least a moon since I had learned to control my sobbing enough to be left alone. As much as I might have needed the comfort, I wouldn’t accept it. The grief was a natural response to the trauma, but that never meant I wanted to feel it.

After constantly re-witnessing the death of Elyane, I can understand why many had said that father had changed after Elia. How the visage of his sweet sister’s corpse flashing in his mind must have tainted him.

I had always heard the stories of how he needed to see what was done to her and her children, how he pried the caskets open himself. He disappeared for days after that, some thought he had set out to find men willing enough to kill the man responsible. When he had returned with a couple bruises, no one dared ask where he had been or what it was that he had sought out in relief.

Obara had said that the first moon after Elia’s death was the hardest training any of the girls had ever gotten. It was gruelling, and father was more commanding and stiff. It was no longer playful or for boredom, It was necessity and purposeful. Gods be damned if something should happen to his girls.

Nym would tell me of how he had stopped letting them roam freely, he didn’t trust any of us out of his sight. She had even said that he had my nursery in his room and wasn’t often seen without me in his arms. But I suppose that came more out of mourning my mother than his sister.

From that day on, long gone was the playful and flirtatious brother Elia had known him to be. That man was replaced with an angered, growly beast with poisoned fangs. It had taken him many years to regain his humour, but his hostility was hardly contained.

That much I had been told and knew from other people. Few saw what lies underneath. A broken man. I think it was because I was the youngest, a babe, that he shared his cage with me. He had entrusted a great deal of himself to my mother; she was the first woman he had thought to marry, and I was all he had left of her. So he allowed me to see his grief, his anguish, the pain so colorfully veiled by hate and violence. 

I forget how selfish it was that I had left him, twice. How much he must have burden himself with in hiding without someone he trusted to share. His brother was busy with a nation to rule, he never wanted to change the girls view of him, and Ellaria was a good woman, but she had always been drawn to his anger. They might think him weak if they knew how he cried.

I knew now how draining it was to hold everything in; the tears, the pain, whimpers, the hollow emptiness that grew inside. I could feel how easy it is to let the rage take over. Give in to the fires that cried out for blood. The conflict of having a devil inside. The options presented by it were simple: lay down and die or kill them all, a holy slaughter.

The thought of vengeance made me giddy, but the inevitable repercussions gave growth to nausea in the pit of my stomach.

We had just about passed Oakbridge when Ulvar and Durand started questioning me about trying to compile a plan. We couldn’t storm the castle, that was moronic. We had nothing to bribe our way in and none of us had the energy for stealth. It was decided that we’d do the obvious: walk right in. We’d pose as commoners, blend into the crowd of smallfolk, and thankfully we all looked strungout enough for it to work.

“So we hide our horses, deguise ourselves somewhat, and then…?” Ulvar trailed off in question.

“Then we find out which brothel the Prince favours and pay the man a visit. We get anywhere near the Red Keep and we’re dead, understand?” Durand directed, looking towards me for approval.

“I still think we should wait for the Dornish retinue and enter with them. I mean isn’t your brother with them? Surely they’ll give us aid.” Ulvar countered.

“Yes, Arron is with them. They could’ve entered the city already. And if they have yet to arrive, what would you have us do? Wait at the gates for them? Hide in bushes along the Kingsroad, like bandits? We’re trying  _ not _ to draw attention to ourselves.” The older of the two stressed.

I was quite used to their incessant bickering by now, it’s all they had done since the Twins. It was out of anxieties and concern, both of them thinking they had the better idea for survival and safety. But it gave me headaches nonetheless.

“Can we just camp for the night and worry about this tomorrow? I don’t have the strength to listen to either of you talk right now.” And with that, I slid off my horse and began to make a bed of sorts against the trunk of a nearby tree.

The two men inevitably followed suit. Tying our horses on leads and starting a small fire. Exhaustion made it easy to find sleep, it was the keeping of it that was hard.

**Outside the City Gates**

It was a stroke of mere luck that the trio had yet to make it to the grand capital yet. If they had been waiting outside the gates for fellow Dornish like the Sand boy had said, they would have been greeted by the man tasked with finding the lost Princess of Dorne.

Tyrion Lannister waited not far outside the gates of King’s Landing on his father’s orders. It was his job to greet the arriving Martell Princes and their selected Dornish retinue, in the hopes of brokering civility at best. The former Hand now Master of Coin had his squire, Podrick Payne, a quiet and kind boy, hold the banner of the royal house Baratheon. Along with the two was the Imp’s hire sword, the recently knighted Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, a man motivated by nothing more than gold and the promise of women. 

Tyrion, Bronn, and Podrick had been waiting for what felt like hours at this point and there wasn’t a Dornish flag insight. Just the regular and expected trail of commoners and merchants looking to trade. It was almost midday and the sellsword was getting antsy.

“How many Dornishmen does it take to fuck a goat?” The unbothered yet bored killer questioned staring down the road.

“Please don’t.” Tyrion figured the Dornish could arrive at any minute, and it’d be best to not insult any of the infamously hot headed men.

“Seems to me the smart place to meet travellers is in a tavern. That way, one party is late, the other party can drink some ale inside.” Bronn was a very easy man to understand his motives clear, it was his understanding of politics that was lacking. One could surmise that’s why he and the imp needed each other: one was the braun, the other brains.

“This is the Prince of Dorne we’re waiting for, not one of your sellsword friends.” Tyrion sent a condescending and brief smile towards his friend.

“If he’s so damned important, how come they sent you to meet him?” Yet again the newly minted knight put forth another well reasoned thought.

The sellsword and the unwanted son’s friendship had started rather oddly and it made sense that it would continue in such a way. Bronn had saved the half-man’s life for the promise of gold and continued to do so with an increase in asking price of course. Tyrion enjoyed the company of an honest man unburdened by legacy and familial demands. The two were most likely the only ones who allowed each other to openly mock them without recompense.

“There’s bad blood between the Martells of Dorne and the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Has been for years.” The Lannister stated truthfully.

“And just in case the Martells of Dorne are looking to spill some Lannister blood, it may as well be yours, eh?” Bronn joked humorlessly, fully aware that it was more than probable that his reasoning wasn’t entirely wrong.

“No need for cynicism. I happen to be an accomplished diplomat.”

“Oh” The battle hardened man mused taking a swig from his pouch of ale, half doubting the former’s claim.

“Ah, here we are.” He turned around and clapped twice to ready the guardsmen from their slacked posts. “Can you read the sigils?” The little lord asked Bronn when the retinue could be seen on the horizon.

“Yellow balls?” It was amusing to have the illiterate man make guesses at the sigils, a sellsword has no need for memorising such things.

“Wild lemons on a purple field, House Dalt of Lemonwood. A vulture grasping a baby in its talons, House of Blackmont. A crowned skull, the Manwoodys of Kingsgrave.” Podrick expertly listed as each piece of tapestry came into view.

“Boy knows his Dornish houses.”

“I need a sigil.” Bronn deduced to no one in particular.

“And House Martell, a red sun pierced by a spear?” Tyrion asked without haste, ignoring the musings of his hired arm. 

“I don’t see it, my lord.” The boy answered.

“Well met, my lords. His Grace King Joffrey welcomes you in his name. My lord father, the King’s Hand, sends his greetings as well. I am Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, Master of Coin.” Tyrion greets and introduces himself to the Dornish men on horseback. “Forgive me. I don’t see Prince Doran in your company.” He states after scanning over the group, looking for the Prince in question.

“The prince’s health forces him to remain at Sunspear. He sends his brother, Prince Oberyn, to attend the royal wedding.” The man at the front of the group spoke, Ser Deziel Dalt of Lemmonwood.

“Yes, the King will be delighted to enjoy the company of a warrior as renowned as Prince Oberyn at his wedding feast.” Tyrion tried to disguise his concern.

“Will he?” Ser Deziel mused, with some of the Dornish in his company chuckling at his remark.

“Where is Prince Oberyn?”

“Arrived before dawn. Not a man for welcome parties, our Prince” the Dornish knight smirked .

“Very well.” He turned and gestured to the men behind him. “My lords, these fine men from the City Watch will escort you to your quarters in the Red Keep. You must be weary after such a long journey.” Despite the Dornish passing unencumbered and without a care for their escort; Tyrion continued on as if they were listening, though getting quieter with every other word.

“Some accomplished diplomacy that was. Now where?” Bronn asked as the three of them walked away from the Kingsroad and the group of noble southerners.

“We must find Prince Oberyn before he kills somebody, or several somebodies.” The leader of the group stated with importance.

“How do you plan on finding a single Dornishman in a city this big?” Bronn asked, scanning their surroundings.

“You’re famous for fucking half of Westeros.You just arrived at the capital after two weeks of bad road.Where would you go?”

“I’d probably go to sleep, but I’m getting old.” The sellsword answered before mounting his steed.

As the three men go off searching for the unpredictable Red Viper of Dorne, the retinue of Dornish support enter the city. In their likes are: Ser Ryon Allyrion and his natural son Ser Daemon, Oberyn’s former squire and rumoured lover, residing from Godsgrace. Lady Larra Blackmont, Lady of Blackmont, and her children Jynessa and Perros. Ser Deziel Dalt, the Knight of Lemonwood. Lord Tremond Gargalen, Lord of Salt Shore. Myria Jordayne, daughter and heir of Lord Trebor Jordayne, from the Tor. Four Manwoodys of Kingsgrave, Lord Dagos, his two sons, Mors and Dickon, and his younger brother, Myles. Ser Arron Qorgyle, Lord Quentyn Qorgyle's son and younger brother to Durand, their seat is Sandstone. And finally Lord of Hellholt, Harmen Uller (who happens to be the father of the Prince’s bastard paramount, Ellaria) and his younger brother Ser Ulwyck.

The Prince in question was already picking out  _ company _ with Ellaria inside Petyr Baelish’s whore house. Having all but started their wanted distractions, an unfortunate tune was being sung in another room.

“Oberyn.” Ellaria tried to pull her lover from his quickly consuming anger. “Oberyn, don’t” But he was already halfway there.

“With no one there to hear, Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, And not a soul to hear. You lost, friend?” The two Lannister soldiers pull themselves from their whores at the arrival of the Dornishman.

Oberyn Martell was an undeniably confidant man. Men feared, envied, and admired him. And he knew all of those things.

So as he approached the cause of that disgraceful song entering his mind, he had no doubts. He wasn’t going to kill them, he wasn’t mad, he would just scare them a little. They were only soldiers doing their duty, they didn’t make the calls and orders that got people killed. 

“Forgive me for staring. I don’t see many Lannisters where I’m from.”

“I don’t see many Dornishmen in the capital.” One of them replied.

“We don’t like the smell.” He laughed. The second son was very good at mixing civility with understated threats and could easily go from a jest to an accusation in seconds.

Ellaria had finally reached the open floored room, “Come with me, lover.” She attempted to dissuade him from causing any harm by molding herself to him.

“Sirs, if you follow me, I’ll arrange for a private room.” Olyvar, whom Littlefinger left incharge, was also trying to ease the well felt tension. But he too was ignored and spoken over.

“Gods, look at this one. Why are you wasting a woman like this on a Dornishman? Bring him a shaved goat and a bottle of olive oil.” The men sneered, their jape ill advised.

Now they had insulted the Red Viper and referred to Ellaria as a whore, though she didn’t mind, it was an insult all the same. Ellaria was the mother of four of his girls, she was to be respected. 

The Dornish were here for old vengeance, and along the road their group had heard of the Tully-Frey wedding, of what had happened at the Twins. Oberyn had never needed more reason to dispose Lord Tywin, but now he feared for his daughter. Whether she was alive, he did not know. But he had promised himself that no Lannister would touch  _ any  _ of his girls ever again. If he had to start with new vengeance then so be it.

“Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?” His smile feel as he drew closer to the lion’s men.

Both men stood and their paid girls quickly scampered out of the room.

“You think your gold and your lions and your gold lions make you better than everyone. May I tell you a secret? You’re not a golden lion.” the Prince continued, staring down the man whom insulted him and his lover. “You’re just a pink little man who is far too slow on the draw.”

There was a moment of intense silence, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. Who would draw first. And like the prideful idiot most soldiers were, the man accepted Oberyn’s challenge and attempted to go for his sword that laid on the table.

And the viper struck. Almost faster than was perceivable to the eye. The smooth and soft spoken Prince of Dorne had the man’s wrist pinned to the table in seconds and with a smile on his face.

“Longsword is a bad option in close quarters.” He informed simply, as the soldier wailed in pain. And then moving his gaze to the other soldier in the room, “When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding. Quite a lot, I’m afraid. So many veins in the wrist.” He paused, reaffirming his grip on the hilt of his dagger, twisting it ever so slightly. “He’ll live if you get him help straight away. So, decisions.” He smiled up at the man, who clearly wanted to defend his friend.

“Prince Oberyn, forgive the intrusion. We heard there might be……trouble.” Tyrion started from outside the room, having found the loose canon he was searching for.

As soon as his voice was heard and registered by the room, it was over. Just as quickly as the veteran of the fighting pits had lodged the dagger in his wrist, he removed it. The two soldiers quickly exited the brothel to tend to the wound, passing through a side door.

“Apologies, my love.” Oberyn and Ellaria paid Tyrion and Bronn no mind. As the former wrapped themselves around each other, the latter was forced to watch. Bronn in amusement and curiosity, probably wondering how far they’d go with witnesses. And Tyrion with mild irritation.

“I’m here to welcome you to the capital.” Tyrion spoke again, hoping to actually have someone listen to him, for once, as he had no intention of watching. Thankfully, the two drew themselves apart long enough for introductions.

Knowing that there was business to take care of, and who knows how long Tyrion would have this man’s ear, a moment in private was requested and accepted.

Stepping outside the whorehouse and towards a more secluded cove, the two men exchanged quips about their potentially similar positions in life.

Tyrion knew something the Dornish Prince did not and he needed to know if it would cost his life to tell him. “Why did you come to King’s Landing?”

“I was invited to the royal wedding.” Oberyn answered nonchalantly.

“I thought we were speaking truth.”

The older of the two stopped in his tracks and faced the imp questioning him. “The last time I was in the capital was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister Elia and Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. My sister loved him. She bore his children. Swaddled them, rocked them, fed them at her own breast. Elia wouldn’t let the wet nurse touch them. And beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen left her for another woman. That started a war, and the war ended right here, when your father’s army took the city.”

“I wasn’t actually present.” The dwarf tried to defend though he wasn’t being heard.

“They butchered those children. My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And my sister, you know what they did to her?” He asked.

Tyrion didn’t want to reply, he knew all too well what his father’s favorite method of women’s disposal was. Tywin had used it on Tysha, he didn’t doubt Oberyn’s claims about Elia, and he certainly didn’t want to bear the brunt of hate for the recent happening with the Prince’s own daughter.

Oberyn lifted the man from his thoughts with a finger under his chin, “I’m asking you a question.”

“I’ve heard rumours.” He pushed away Oberyn’s hand, it was far too close to his throat for his liking. Everyone had heard rumors, everyone had told different tales.

“So have I. The one I keep hearing is that Gregor Clegane the Mountain raped Elia and split her in half with his great sword.” All the humor had drained from his face. The stare he had given the imp was that of contempt and accusatory.

“I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened.” Tyrion kept trying to distance himself from that event and the line of questioning he was receiving from their guest. But in the back of his mind he knew the truth: he could say these things in truth about Elia, but when it came to Soare, he now knew why and what happened and was choosing to stay silent on it.

“If the Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order. Tell your father I’m here. And tell him the Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts.”

Tyrion was conflicted; he knew he should have told the Prince of his daughter, preferably before Tywin got to her, but this was a man who most definitely had the means to kill him. And he doubted that was a fight Bronn would win, if he would fight it at all. 

He was doomed. If he told the Prince, Oberyn would likely strangle him on the spot. In the rare case that the Viper didn’t strike surely his own father would. But, Tyrion tried to be a good man, better than his father and more honorable than his brother. Meaning he didn’t want to find this girl and deliver her to his father. Perhaps there is a middle ground; he can find the lost Princess of Dorne, as promised, but deliver her directly to her own father instead of his.

But even then, the girl would most likely not trust him. Afterall, it wasn’t that hard to realize that the ‘Red Wedding’ was a Lannister orchestrated event. On the small chance that she did trust him enough to bring her to somewhat safety, he’d have to explain to Oberyn how he knew where she was and why it was that he was helping her. Another way for him to get killed. 

No matter what he did, he’d be disappointing himself or his father. Maybe he wished this Dornish girl would disappear and the problem with her, but that was cruel and selfish. He’d just have to wait and see. With hope maybe she’d find her way to Dorne on her own.


	16. 15 - Everyone Else

Jon Snow hadn't seen his family in almost four years now, even Benjen had gone missing beyond the Wall. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this. He had never dreamed of leaving home to never see them again.

_Next time I see you, you'll be all in black._

He had felt so certain that there was a next time. That Robb would come and visit him at the Wall with Bran and Arya or that he'd be able to visit himself like Benjen did on occasion. But Eddard was named a traitor and everything had changed after that. He almost broke vow to go and fight in Robb's camp when he had heard the news. But he was a man of the Night's Watch, his family had become that of those he served with. And they needed him.

He remembers how unencumbered he had been with the Wildlings. The word 'bastard' had no real meaning to them. And no one really cared for the politics of Westeros, no one snickered about 'Lord Snow' the son of a traitor. His only problem was the hatred and distrust of Black Brothers, crows. And he had found Ygritte. He felt like she had known him better than anyone. Every arrow she loosed was kissed by the same fire as she.

He was guilty, how sick with greed could he have been to experience such life while his brother was out there dying, all three of them it would seem. Theon was always rowdy and trying to prove himself, but Bran and Rickon were children. And they had thought nothing else but of a brother in the Greyjoy. And Robb. Murdered at a wedding. He couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he was there. Maybe Jon could've spotted the traitor in their midst. People had assumed Arya dead for being missing for so long, but Jon held out hope still that his clever little sister was hiding out somewhere using Needle (hopefully only when she had to). And Sansa was a political prisoner, now married to the imp and Jon decided that that was the best anyone could have hoped for.

The Starks were legally extinct. He wasn't a noble lord's son anymore, only a bastard from a dying house. Just when he thought he knew who he was, where his place was in this world; he had returned home to the Wall only to find that his old one no longer existed.

**King's Landing**

Planning a royal wedding was hard work and everyone felt it.

The figure heads of both families were evenly matched, Olenna and Tywin could belittle each other for days and neither one of them would budge an inch. Tywin, and therefore the Crown, needed funds, men, and food. The Tyrell's wanted more power, influence. One was more president than the other; the matriarch usually got her way.

She was a smarter woman than most, having won her way from the Arbour to Highgarden. Under her tutelage the Reach was not so secretly ruled by a woman. And she had no plans on the future continuing otherwise. She knew no matter how much she helped or how obedient she seemed, someone was always watching and waiting for a mistake.

Amidst the cunning and scheming of power driven Lords and Ladies was one who cared little for such things.

Tarth was a place she missed. It was an island not many thought of and the weather was that of the lands they were claimed to, but she missed it all the same. None had judged her or her father for allowing and training her to wield a sword. Here, everyone looked at her as some giant, ugly, beast pretending to hold a woman's body.

The last time she had seen home or her father for that matter was before she had sworn her first vow. First, what a terrible thing to think, she'd thought there would only ever be the one. But now there were two and if she completes the second, she would quite like a third. Renly. What a kind boy he had been and what a great king he would have been. People still accuse her of his death and the only other witness was long dead now too. Catelyn. The woman had given her safe passage out of the younger Baratheon's camp, she believed her and treated her kindly. She had been spared the Red Wedding herself, but often wished she could have been there. To defend Lady Catelyn or maybe even to die for a good king, she was not sure.

Brienne wondered if she was cursed, those she swore herself to die. With that in mind she should give her sword to Stannis or Tywin. But a knight would not think such a thing, and neither of those men would have her anyway.

_A complication does not release you from a vow._

She had done what Catelyn had asked of her, Jaime was returned safely to King's Landing, but it was unlikely that anyone would honor the deal that was made. She would have to save the girls herself. And that was a complicated matter, as Jaime liked to remind her. Sansa was married and to Tyrion, she couldn't theive her away in the night. No one had seen Arya since they took Eddard's head at the Great Sept of Baelor, Brienne did not have the men or resources to go looking for her. She would have to settle for keeping a watchful eye on the girl who looked so much like her mother. And with the Tyrell's being present, she could seek forgiveness and deal them truth.

_One day, I will avenge our king._

Ser Jaime had also had to come to terms with new truths upon his arrival home. He had wanted to try again, to pretend he wasn't the man everyone believed him to be. He expected things to be the same; their foes had all been dealt with, surely they could continue on the way things had been. He was very wrong: Cersei had rejected him, his father wished to strip him of the last honourable thing he had, and the King thought him unworthy and poor fit of his status.

_You took too long._

Sansa felt so alone in this place that surrounded her. She had been freed of one cage and thrown into another. Tyrion had been kind to her and did not ask much if anything from her either, she might have liked him if it weren't for his family.

The girl was starting to realize that she shouldn't be putting hope in other people. Every time she felt an ounce of happiness or a semblance of peace it was quickly ruined. She remembered dreaming of being Queen and having little princes and princesses, King's Landing and the Lannisters had proven cruel and uncaring. Joffrey had promised to be merciful, he had made her watch and had tortured her since. Her being a traitor's daughter and the proposal of the Tyrell's had freed her, she was wed all the same. Tyrion was better than the rest of his family that was for sure; and the moment she gives it a fair shot, Robb and her mother are lost to this world. She could still hear the stories of how and what was done.

_I may be a fool, but I'm a living fool, thanks to you._

When the man who lost his knighthood because of her starts romanticising an escape, she can't help herself. She should know better, it never ends well. But what else does she have left to lose?

**The Riverlands,**

******Near the Inn at The Crossroads**

The girl and her Hound had made a fine escape. She had seen what was done and had killed a man for it. It was her first intentional kill, and she wanted more. A sad thing for vengeance to grow so deeply and darkly in someone so young, but all men must die.

Little Arya Stark was getting good at killing, she liked the way it felt. To watch those whom made her family suffer bleed out in front of her.

She didn't think she had much family left to turn to, save for Jon at the Wall, but Sandor wouldn't bring her there. The brothers at Castle Black didn't have money and he wasn't interested in taking vows. No, her captor wanted a reward. _Rich Aunt Lysa in The Vale_ , he said; he'd be compensated for his troubles, she'd be safe with family, and they would be rid of each other.

Arya didn't remember if she ever met her aunt or uncle for which Jon got his namesake. All she had was stories. Jon Arryn had been like a father to hers and his death is what brought them to King's Landing in the first place. Perhaps she could blame a dead man for the ill tidings. She heard the capital and all its gossip mongers had bred madness in Lysa, and that she had once threatened to through the Imp out of the moon door. Maybe she didn't want to go to her aunt, she decided, but where else had she to turn?

She also decided that despite his ill temper and harsh words, she liked the Hound's company. In her childish heart she might have dreamed to roam the countryside with the man, lotting taverns, pretending to be commoners, and most of all killing Lannister men when they came across them.

But she'd never see her family again if she stayed with the better of the Clegane brothers. She wasn't sure she wanted the last images of them to be what they were: Jon giving her Needle before he left for the Wall, Bran unconscious and crippled, Rickon crying and hiding in cupboards or clinging to mother's skirts, Sansa fainting at the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. She didn't think that Bran and Rickon where really dead. She wanted to believe that someone had got them out and they were out there somewhere, maybe they too were heading to Aunt Lysa.

And then there were images she couldn't change. Those who had died. Her father had been a noble man and they took his noble head. She didn't see that happen, but she remembers the sight of them dragging a slumped body away, a corpse dressed like Eddard Stark. Sandor had first hoped to ransom her to her mother and brother, but that went awry. They were too late. She had watched the soft whimpers of his Direwolf fade into nothing. She remembers coming to to the sound of shouting and the image of evil men's stitch work burned into her retinas. She had a wolf dream that night, a pale, ghostly, and naked woman floating in the river; when she woke she knew it was her mother.

She lost friends along the road too. Joffrey had Micah, the butcher's boy, killed for sparing with her. _Stop it! Stop it, both of you! You're ruining everything!_

Syrio Forel died fighting of the White Cloaks in her honour. She hadn't seen that either, a scared little girl running down the stairs. _Not Today, Not Today, Not Today._

Yoren had gotten her out of the capital under the guise of a poor boy off to join the Night's Watch. He was going to take her to Winterfell, to her brothers and her home. Her was a proud man and they killed him, too. _I don't think I will. I always hated crossbows. Take too long to load._ They killed Loomy that night, too.

It was on the road to the Vale that they had come across a tavern, and they were both hungry. It was crawling with Lannister men, more than the Hound was willing to kill on an empty stomach. But she knew one of them, Polliver. He killed her friend and took her sword. She remembered what he had said that night, too.

_I understand that if any more words come pouring out your cunt mouth, I'm gonna have to eat every fucking chicken in this room._

Sandor would help her from the start this time.


	17. 16 - Knights In Shining Armour

**The Crownlands,** _The Slums of King's Landing_

With the wedding buzz going on, it was relatively easy to slip into the city without much question.

Besides the awful smell, the crowded streets and the bombardment of merchants reminded me of home. Of the Shadow City below Sunspear. The bazaars and street merchants of Planky Town; the commotion selling spices, silks, and wines. But King's Landing lacked color, it lacked soul; I don't think anyone could ever find home in this place.

Holding on to the vivid feel of Dorne reminded me of what I had lost in leaving. Memories made me sour and I turned my focus back to my present.

We had blended into the crowd of enthused smallfolk entering the Gate of The Gods. We figured it'd be best to settle in a tavern not far off from the Street of Silk, and pay the Innkeep for his discretion. Not to well, Ulvar had warned, everyone knows you have a big secret when you pay in dragons over copper or silver.

I knew that father would be cautious about keeping a routine in this city. He would assume he's being watched. But when he found something he liked, something they both liked, he often came back for seconds.

We had narrowed down the list of brothels in the city, which were given freely by numerous barkeeps, to those more open-door and closed-mouth. The most likely on the list were Chataya's brothel or Littlefinger's. The latter was only on the list because its owner was thought to be out of town; no one needed Petyr Baelish selling their secrets.

"I'm not standing outside a whorehouse and waiting for one of them to step out." Durand complained.   
The road had gotten to him. As had sleepless nights, the secrets he was keeping, the times he had pretended not to hear her cry, grief, and the hunger. The price of a hot meal had risen in the Riverlands; people's crops were burned, livestock stolen, and boys laid bloody in fields somewhere.   
Durand and Ulvar were not as fit as they were when they had left Dorne, their armor was beginning to look ill-fitting. To milk what coin they had on them, the two men had taken turns on what days they would have meals. They made no complaint to the princess, she had far too much on her mind as it was.

"What's our plan then? We're not going in the castle and those are the only two places we know he'll be. Unless you plan on crashing a wedding; I think we'd both agree that's the opposite of below the radar." Ulvar looked expectantly towards the other man in this shabby room above the tavern.

Both men glanced at me, neither expected me to talk as I hadn't said much these days, but they never stopped hoping I would. The fatherless of the two even joked that maybe my silence would develop into telepathy; Rand didn't talk to him for almost the rest of the day after that. I think we all lost our humor at that point.

"Find Ellaria," My voice a mere whisper from misuse. I didn't even sound like myself; groggy, throat scratched and voice cracking. I opened my mouth and some broken, shattered creature spoke in my place. "They won't be watching her as dutifully as him." It was true, they thought less of women in the north, that we were less capable than men.

I had been so strong, and proud, I had known exactly who I was and where I stood. I thought myself the warrior Princess Nymeria, off to unite kingdoms and men and bring about a better world for our combined peoples.

I was naive. About everything. Being a Dornish Princess doesn't mean anything anymore, and I'm not quite sure it ever did to northerners. I never expected them to distrust me as much as they did; everyone is suspicious of outsiders, but to shun me? I wish Doran had told me that Northerners were a different breed; almost as hot-headed and quick to action as we, but forthright and structured to their detriment.

And battle, what had really known about battles? Father taught us to fight, yes, but he never taught us what fighting was like. Not real fighting anyways. Not the kind where chaos surrounds you and you can't tell whose friend or foe. Not what it was like to be fighting for your life while that of those you loved or admired was slipping away. And no one even saw me as a threat. Everyone took us seriously as fighters in Dorne; I wish I had known that no one else did.

My eyes never leaving the window, I slowly sank down unto the lumpy and overused bed in the corner of the room. It was stiff and clearly made out of straw, but after nights spent on the ground it felt like a luxury I couldn't and shouldn't afford.

I had gotten used to having to conserve heat sleeping in the woods, I must have looked like a frightened child, curling up into a ball and wrapping my arms around myself in the hopes of sleep. If I squeezed tight enough I could pretend someone was holding me, to hard and castled rivers beside flayed men came to mind, as if they ever left me.

"You stay with her. I'll see what I can find out." Durand sighed before leaving the room.

I closed my eyes to the sound of his distant footfalls down the worn wooden stairs.  
  


**The Red Keep**

Sansa was refusing to eat and took 'prayer' often in the Godswoods; a long dead stump of a Weirwood was the only place she found any solace. She hated that she was so infatuated with the Prince. She hated that she had believed all the little, cold lies they told her; we'll free your father if you write to Robb, we'll give mercy if he repents.

_A stupid little girl with stupid dreams. A sweet little bird repeating all of there words._

All the things she wished she could change. She was utterly alone in this hell she dreamt for herself. Gods, she didn't mean it.

In her dreams, the small and ill-frequent sweet ones that leave her in tears in the morning, she can just snap her fingers and go back to hating Winterfell and its dreary walls. For those tiny moments she feels so alive and utterly, unadulteratedly suffocated. Drowning in her dreams of knights and valor and all the exquisite beauty that must outside the North. How much she had dreamt of leaving that place; always of what she wanted and never of what she had. The cinder blocks tied at her ankles is hindsight, knowing that she gets her wish of away from her birthplace and that everything she leaves behind in the pursuit is lost to time and evil men with red steel. She simply blinked and they were all gone.

All that she had known, all that she loved, and all that she had lost. She was the one who had encouraged her father to surrender. She wrote to Robb asking the same of him, he didn't. She remembers all the shames she suffered because of his victories. Her mother had stood beside him in his last defeat. Bran and Rickon were dead too, burned by their father's ward, Theon. Arya probably died not long after her father. And she didn't think Jon would leave his post at the Wall for the sister that had been so cruel to him.

Her reality in King's Landing is suffocating as well, but the feeling is different somehow. The guards that follow her everywhere could kill her at any minute and she wouldn't dare forget it. The nobles in court lie and gossip about the fallen Starks, mock their honor and tradition to her face. She was a joke that they were all in on, she needed no setup or punchline.

There was no way out. No one was coming to save her; no army, no knights, no family. She was a Lannister now, only in name, but she always dreamed and spoke and cried in Stark.

She thought she knew people, how the world worked; if you were a good person, good things will come to you. Real life wasn't Jonquil, there were never going to be flowers in her hair. No, the pretty maids who fall in love with a handsome knights become widowed, left broken for other women, or are brutalized for sport.

The man in charge of her fate and that of the entire Kingdom was not Joffrey and it wasn't Cersei either. She knew better know, it was Tywin Lannister who controlled court, who decided whom did what and what was to be done. Sansa knew that the stories about him were true. The eradication of House Reyne, her uncle Edmure's wedding (which she despised its renaming, Red Wedding), and she had no doubt about the rumors of the Sack.

Such an evil man deserved to die.   
Sometimes she thinks they all do. But Tyrion never forced anything on her, and from her limited experience Tommen and Myrcella were nothing like their mother.   
She thought about what would occur if they died often; how it would happen, who would be blamed, and what would become of her. She wondered who could give her such a gift, to free her of such a prison. Someone, anyone, Gods, man, or ghost.

Maybe someone heard her.

Everyone at court was riled up about the Dornish guests, Prince Oberyn, his paramour and their retinue. She's heard stories about that man's rage and cries for vengeance. Everyone knew about Dorne's trepidation of the Lannisters and of how much they wanted justice for their lost Princess. She heard he almost raised armies after they killed his sister. She also was told that he killed the first man he dueled, and some more far-fetched that he could poison you with a thought.

She wished and hoped that this Red Viper thought hard and often about the Lannisters; all she needed was this one knight.  
  
  


**Chataya's Brothel**

He had decided against taking up the rooms offered to him in the Keep. How could he sleep in the same halls that brought her such pain?

He distracted himself with whores as he was so very good at. But his grief and his rage were not as distractible these days.

Elia. Elia is what he came here for.   
Certainly, saving the Stark girl had been on the table at some point, but deals were not made and the boy was now dead.

And what a death it had been, people were talking about it the whole ride from the Dornish Marshes. The Red Wedding, they were calling it. It both pleased and terrified him that none mentioned or noted a Martell presence in that camp.

The Starks were clearly betrayed by men fed Lannister gold. It was clear they knew she was there, there was no denying it. And yet, not a word from anyone. He half expected a ransom note to find its way to Dorne and when none came, he hoped to cross path along the road. But he had heard nothing from his daughter; had she escaped the carnage or is she lying dead somewhere wrapped in Lannister cloaks?

He couldn't bare not knowing. They had taken his sister from him, his darling niece and nephew as well, he would not suffer his daughter too. They should pray that she was not harmed in anyway.

He had eight other girls, yes. With Obara, Nym, and Tyene he hadn't truly known he'd fathered them until they were of speaking age. He regretted the manner in which he took Bara from here mother; it was harsh and cruel and had turned the girl into a very stiff woman, angry and occasionally uncaring. Nym and Tyene were both given up by their mothers; Nym because she was unwanted and Tyene because septas are barred from having relations, though the girl does visit her mother when the chance is given. Sarella was happenstance; there's not much room for a babe on a pirate ship, and he had the three already why not four? And he loved them all very much, but Soare was different.

He had loved her mother dearly; Aiyana, the daughter of a blacksmith turned trader, a beauty from a far off land. The furthest he had ever gone was Slaver's Bay and in the Great Pits Of Meereen is where he had met the YiTish woman. He was taken with her, more so than he had ever been before. He planned to take her home to Dorne and be wedded. He hadn't known she was pregnant when they had started their voyage. They had no maester nor midwife of any kind on that ship, it was a miracle the girl was even born. And he had witnessed it; a blessed thing and utterly terrifying. Aiyana had never made it to shore; she gave their daughter a name and slipped away into the breeze, forever lost to the sea.   
He arrived to the news of the Sack of King's Landing and never parted from the babe.

He told her things he probably shouldn't have, entrusted her with secrets he barely told his brother. He burdenned her with the replacement of his dear sister and the wife that never was. Her's was the only birthing he'd ever witnessed, the first one of his girls he had taught to walk and to speak; he had never known the importance of such things before.

What he'd do to see her safe. 

Why had he let her leave in the first? She argued Sarella had done it first, gone off to travel the world, but Sara had not stepped into a war. He had argued with Doran for months, but ultimately the decision was up to her. Soare had inherited his independent streak; the more you told her no, you should consider it done. She wanted to prove herself to the sisters that mocked her for learning at their uncle's side, that she could fight battles in the mind as well as those on foot.

Thinking back, he should have let Lord Fowler's only boy have her. She might have hated to be kept in the mountains like that, but at least he'd know where she was and if she was alive.

But then it might have been Arienne whose fate was up in the air and Doran was already facing the loss of Quentyn, he didn't need more grief. None of them did.

It wasn't right for a man to see is children pass before himself; Oberyn did not want to join that group. So he willed it so, Soare was nowhere near the Twins when the camp was slaughtered. He hoped she was at sea, sailing home or to Arienne and that's why they hadn't crossed paths.

His girls were smart and cunning, he assured himself, surely she would need no saving.  
  



	18. 17 - Best Laid Plans

Tyrion was pleased to talk to someone who didn't want something from him. Tywin wanted him to put a child in the Stark girl, Sansa wanted him to leave her alone, Cersei simply put wanted him to die, he had no idea what Varys wanted from him but he was sure there was something, and the Prince of Dorne wanted to roast them all over a nice quaint fire. The latter might fuck over the ashes; a pyre and an orgy what a way to go.

Being a clever man, Tyrion was good at solving problems, but there were far too many as of late. Granted some of those were already solved by now. Most of the infamous Five Kings were dead leaving a fleetless Stannis, a sonless Balon whose hold on Deepwood Motte was beginning to falter, and the _victorious_ King Joffrey. Though Stannis isn't dead and Balon had yet to give up, those were not big enough problems to deter a Royal Wedding.

His mind brought up the second problem his father had tasked him with solving: the Princess of Dorne and her _safe_ return home. He wondered if he father might spare him for not delivering her in Lannister cloaks. But he'd have to find her first and he doesn't imagine that'd be easy. Cleaning up a mess his father made now that would be new. He wondered why Tywin had not wanted to take charge of the matter himself. _Maybe he plans of having the 'half-mad' Prince kill me. That'd certainly get rid of many of father's problems_ , the dwarf thought.

Speaking of men with problems, Tyrion was currently having a meal with his recently returned brother, Jaime.

"Your new hand, it's nicer than the old one." He noted. Finally a Lannister who actually wore the gold they always promised. "Wouldn't you agree, Pod?"

"Is it solid gold?" The squire asked while serving them.

"Gilded steel." Tyrion answered for his brother. "You're not eating. Why is no one eating? My wife wastes away and my brother starves himself."

"I'm not hungry." Ser Jaime answered. It was a lie, of course, he just didn't want to look like a fool. He wasn't used to doing everything with his left hand.

"You lost a hand, not a stomach." The younger brother remarked. "Try the boar. Cersei can't get enough of it since one killed Robert for her." He smiled at his own joke. "A toast, to the proud Lannister children. The dwarf, the cripple, and the mother of madness." He proclaimed, raising his cup.

Jaime went to grab his as well, but with his instincts still leaning towards the right. His _golden_ hand just knocked the cup over, spilling the wine. Podrick went to grab a rag to clean up the wine, but Jaime shooed him off. "Leave us."

"It's only wine." Tyrion picked up the discarded cup and refilled it.

"I can't fight any more." The Kingsguard confessed, he felt useless now that he's lost his sword hand. Is that all Jaime ever was? A well placed and well trained sword? What kind of life could he live without it.

"What about your left?"

"I can hold a sword, but all my instincts are wrong." He answered, the spill a clear indication of his spacial awareness. "How can I protect the King when I can hardly wipe my own ass?"

"You're the Lord Commander now. Command." Tyrion stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Let others do the fighting. When was the last time Father used a sword?"

"I'm not Father. I'm the Kingslayer. When people find out I can't slay a pigeon..."

"Train, then. Learn to fight with your other hand."

"With whom? You? Men talk. As soon as someone discovers I can't fight, he'll tell everyone."

"You need a proper, discreet swordsman." Finally a problem Tyrion already had an answer for. "I have just the one."

**The North, the Dreadfort**

Ramsay Snow had gotten quite used to being acting Lord, he enjoyed the power it gave him. He liked his father not being there to breathe down his neck even more. Ramsay was free to play all the games he liked, and there were many.

But Roose was coming home and hopefully he would have a new toy for his bastard to play with. Ramsay had been excited about the southern conquest, and no doubt he could ransom her better; Balon was no fun and the Dornish truly know how to hold a grudge. The bastard of Bolton had schemes and tricks coming out of his ears, all the ways to break his new toy.

You could only imagine the disappointment he felt when his father rode in. Ramsay was no longer the highest ranking in the keep, Walda was a fat and ugly woman, and there was no prisoner to amuse him.

Roose was also displeased. He had promised Tywin a seamless endeavor, a missing Princess was just about the opposite. And he had to smuggle himself back into his own lands. The Greyjoy hold on Moat Cailin was not going to be given up easily.

To make matters worse, his bastard had done too much to their prize; Balon wouldn't care what happened to an heir who couldn't further the line. Though a puppet to unsuspecting Ironborn could be useful. Ramsay might just save himself on this one, Reek was well trained.

The Lannisters would give them no help on taking or holding the North, Roose knew that well. They might have a solution to the Ironborn problem, but now they had a Bran and Rickon problem as well as the Dornish girl. They'd send Locke after the boys, he loved a good hunt and volunteered to take the black, if need be, to get information from Jon Snow.

Tywin told him that he would handle the Dornish Princess and Roose believed him, but Tywin was very adept at blaming others for his orders. If the Boltons were to draw the short stick, the only comfort Roose could take is that they'd have to go through all the other Seven Kingdoms to get to them. And he deeply doubted that their armies had the numbers or strength to make the trek, especially with summer now over. The Dornish just aren't meant for the cold.

**King's Landing**

As Tyrion was getting scolded for keeping Shae around and expecting more help than he would get from the Master of Whispers, Ulvar and Durand were coming up with a plan.

Durand had done his job. He knew that Ellaria and Prince Oberyn were staying at Littlefinger's brothel, seeing as they were quite taken the man left in charge. He knew that they would be attending the gift giving ceremony this morning, breakfasting with the King and new Queen respectively. And seeing as they would most likely leave after the wedding, it gave them only this day and the next to intercept either one of them.

"We could enter the brothel as a patron, and then get lost on the way to our room?" Ulvar suggested from the chair in the corner of their shared musty room.

I was sat on the bed, watching the two bicker over ideas. Durand had developed an awful habit of pacing between the wall and the foot of the bed, it gave me headaches just thinking about all that movement.

Every now and again the room would seem to spin, whether if was the smell of cheap liquor downstairs or the often nauseating sounds of drunkards, I couldn't tell. Sometimes I felt as if I were going mad or already dead; hovering above my body, watching, pitying, and hating. 

Maybe it was part of my new reality. The one in which I'm constantly sore and sad and undeniably anger, but so, so, very alone. 

I don't remember when it started, but I don't think people were meant to feel so much and so little all the time.

"We no longer look high enough in status to be served in that brothel. And besides we don't even know which room is theirs. And before you say it, we're not begging brothers, we're not knocking on every door." Rand stated, making another round of the room.

I didn't know what to do, not really at least. But I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to go home and see my sisters, make sure the younger girls were all right and never felt the pain I was in. I wanted to thank Ser Brynden Tully for saving my life, Rand couldn't have done it by himself we both knew that, and promise to help him take back his home. I wanted to make sure the Lannisters wouldn't treat Robb's little sister the same way they did me. I wanted to melt the god-awful keeps that were the Twins and i wanted all Lord Frey's sons and daughters inside when I did it. I wanted to blungen Lord Tywin to a pulp and bring him back just to do it all over again. I want Lord Roose to live in fear, as I'm sure he does, but I'll let the wolves take him.

I wanted vengeance, but not as much as I wanted nothing. Nothing at all. Why would I crave their deaths when nothing happened? Why would I stay in King's Landing when I could go home to where Elyane was surely waiting? Why was I scared to face my father when I was still the strong and independent girl he knew me to be?

And there it was. The shame. I had been lying to myself; as much as I said I wanted to be coddled, I would sooner never see any of them again. No Martell had ever been raped before Elia, none had lived to tell the tale. No Martell had been broken before. I was a daughter of Dorne and I was weaker than they all thought Doran to be. _Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken._ My words don't apply to me any more, I am a shame to the Martell name. A shame to my father's legacy. The Snakes will laugh at me, deny my rights as one of them.

I let myself be ignored for months. I let my name and my people be mocked. I convinced myself that there was still a chance to win that war, if only I had gotten them to agree on our terms. My optimism got me nowhere. My wishful thinking put my friends in danger. My mediocrity got Ellyane killed, Ulvar wounded, Durand scared, and myself group raped. So much for the warrior princess of Dorne.

I was a disease, and both of them were better off without me.

"We've ruled out a surprise abduction, as you call it. What's left?" Ulvar paused in question. "What if...." he started grinning like a mad cat. "What if we crash the wedding feast?"

"We went over this-" Rand almost started the lecture up again before the younger of the two cut him off.

"No, no, hear me out." He paused to make sure Durand would actually give him the chance to state his case. "At the feast most everyone will be focused on the Royals. No one from here knows who I am or what I look like. And there'll be servants all over the place to feed guests. I could slip in, hidden in plain sight, place a note for a meeting place and slide right back out just as easily."

"It could work, but how do we get you into the courtyards without question? What do we do if someone asks for your servants papers? Granted all of that is solved, what happens when someone notices you're missing? If they come looking for you? There aren't many Dornish in the capital, we're easy to spot."

" _We_ haven't been spotted yet. And you highborns are always too busy looking towards each other to notice the staff." Ulvar pointed out.

"Fine, but you get caught and you're on your own. Don't bring the City Watch back to our door." Rand reprimands. If Ulvar wanted to run a fool's errand and get caught in the Red Keep then so be it, besides they didn't have any better options anyways. "What 'meeting place' do you have in mind? You can't very well give them this address."

"The alley in between the Street of Sisters and the Street of Silk, near the ruined Dragon Pit. The only people that come that way are in a hurry to get to Chataya's and don't much care for anything else along the way."

They were doing this for me; if I wasn't here they would have rode for home along time ago. Ulvar was going to walk into the belly of the beast with not much of a plan, I couldn't let what happened to Elyane happen again.

"Don't go for Oberyn, too obvious. Bump into Ellaria. If she leaves, no one cares." I spoke in broken sentences, but I knew they got my meaning. They'd be watching him and all those around him, suspecting treachery and desperately looking for deception. Ellaria was nothing more than a highborn bastard to them. If she left during the feast, they'd figure she was just another empty headed, bored whore with all the _respect_ of a Dornishmen. They'd probably be upset and ask why she would leave a royal event, but they won't send men after her. And even if they would she'd be heading towards the brothels anyways; completely unsuspecting.

But did I want them to see me? As much as I love him, father is a man and because of that I may be able to fool him, men don't have to live their lives in that fear. But, Ellaria will take one look at me and she'll know. It's the first fear any woman thinks of when in a different surrounding: will one of them abuse me? No matter where you are, who raised you, or how high on the totem pole you are; people can do vile things to us. Ellaria might not be as wise as my uncle or father but she has a woman's intuition; she won't even need to see the distance I put between the boys and I.

She'll pity me. I don't want her pity, I'm not sure I want her sympathy or her rage. I don't want to be pitied, I don't want to be broken, and I don't want to be sent back home because the world was too much for me.

I think I might go mad if I was sent home. To wander around the Water Gardens and Sunspear; to look at the pretty things and all the shadowed corners Elyane and I used to hide in. To hear the ghost of her laughter echoing into the abyss. To look towards my sisters and see who I had thought I'd been, warriors, and who I could have remained, naive and blissfully unaware. I'd be haunted. Haunted by living nightmares of what was and what could've been. But I had wanted to be something, to do something worthy of my own chapter in our history. None of it ended up mattering; for the most part, I wasn't sure I wanted anything anymore.

I understand why they did what they did and why Tywin ordered it. He must be so proud of himself for thinking it up. Dorne almost joined the war, what should he do to stop it? Practically nothing. The Northern camp was tearing itself apart long before Roose Bolton did physically; they couldn't agree with each other, let alone some foreign dignitary. I mocked myself by staying whilst being ignored, just as everyone mocked Elia for her health. Some people say that what happened to Elia only happened because she was alone and sickly, and father was on the opposite side of the world and too late to save her. I wasn't alone, I wasn't sickly or small and meek, I was trained to fight and hold my own, and it didn't matter. Tywin Lannister had me raped to break my father.

I wonder if he can take as well as he gives.


	19. 18 - The Lion and The Rose

The gift giving ceremony was as bland as to be expected. Every lord trying their best to win Jofferey's favour, all of them trying to get the best angle to kiss his ass from. Some gifts were of note, like Tyrion's attempt to make him a better king with Grand Maester Kaeth's thick tome.

_Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom._

Most were easily turned to jokes; Mace Tyrell giving a chalice nearly as large as the boy's head. Or Lord Tywin's giving of rare and ancestral steel to a brat so undeserving he named it 'Widow's Wail'.

_Every time I use it, it'll be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again._

A cruel joke from a cruel boy; waving the steel of her father's around while joking about his execution. What a spiteful little twat to refuse much needed wisdom. The country is being run by a boy who has yet to outgrow tantrums.

Oberyn gave a gift as well, as it is required of every royal guest, a red gold scorpion brooch. Not as fanciful as other gifts, but he did not care for the court's shock and awe nor the favour of the King.

How could he care about the inbred boy when he had no idea where she was, the only daughter he had sent into harm's way.

The ceremony was taking place at midday; the Great Sept of Baelor was filled with noble lords and ladies from houses still intact from the war. Those prized or feared enough to attend the inside audience were evenly split; the Tyrells and their vassals in variants of greens from the Reach on the left, the proud lion and all those who feared him on the right. The Prince of Dorne was unfortunately categorized as the latter, though he doubts it would have been better to stand with the Fat Flower.

As the church bells were ringing throughout the capital, Ulvar was being snuck into the wait staff for the festivities.

Their plan was to sneak a note to Ellaria of a meeting spot near the juncture of the Street of Sisters and the Street of Silk. In case of Ulvar getting found out the note was nondescript; no adressor or receiver were named, there were no sigils, no indication of whose note was being passed. They also had a code in play should he be followed back to their hideout.

Soare and Durand could only hope and pray things went well from the confines of the dingy room above the tavern. Durand was already prepared for a quick escape if need be.He was constantly peering through the window, watching the streets below.

"He won't be back for hours-" She answered trying to calm her anxieties, more so than his.

"It would only take them minutes to find us here if he's discovered." Durand was paranoid as ever, but at least he had good reason. Both of them knew they'd lose their heads on treason alone.

Rand had begun pacing the room, it was going to be a long day.

"He won't give us up. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"What do you hope for, Soare?"

"I don't know"

**The Wedding Feast**

"Bit much, wouldn't you say?" Lord Tywin walked with Lady Olenna from the Great Sept, the two of them discussing affairs.

"It feels proportionate." Lady Olenna's words were simply put.

"Proportionate to what?" No matter what 'distraction' the people needed, an expense was still an expense. An the Tyrells were not the ones who needed to answer to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

"The expected extravagance." A Royal wedding should be a sight to behold, nothing should ever come close.The matriarch of House Tyrell wanted nothing but the best for her granddaughter. If Margery was going to be married and named Queen the occasion better be worthy. And if the Tyrell's were going to foot some of the bill, Lady Olenna was going to get her money's worth.

"People who spend their money on this sort of nonsense tend not to have it for long." Tywin was too practical for such occasions. He was a cynical man who found comfort in people's fear than their love, having grown distrustful of smiles and laughter long ago.

"You ought to try enjoying something before you die. You might find it suits you."

While the two continued to try and outwit one another, the feast was in full swing. Seventy-seven dishes are splayed out on several tables; game, fowl, and fish piled high on one, fruits and vegetables on another, a third devoted to breads, cheeses and wine. There were mummers and singers and fire jugglers scattered throughout for entertainment, as well as some well placed contortionists and whores of the finest calabre.

But It wouldn't be a wedding without politics and scheming involved.

Sansa hadn't moved from the high table. She didn't want to mingle with the nobles or hear them laugh at and mock her family. She remembers how one of them had even suggested the name Wolfsbane for Jofferey's new sword.

So she watched from above; watched all the people who claimed they were friends, all the people who helped kill her father's men and cheered when they killed him too, all those who watched her get beaten for sport, all of them who had drunk to her brother's death and the demise of her family.

No one cared for her here, they only wanted her title. The only thing stopping her from disappearing was their need for her claim on Winterfell, her birthright. Without that, she fears she would have been much like her Direwolf; an innocent to the slaughter, on Cersei's demand.

As a rendition of the Rains of Castamere played on in honour of the King, Lady Olenna set to her plans.

Sansa had sometimes felt like only the dead cared for her. When people talked to her they only wanted to hear something useful to them. They never cared about the truth, so she had stopped telling it. Lady Olenna and Margery still talked to her after she was married to Tyrion, after her use to them was over and she could no longer wed Loras. Sansa took hold of their kindness and relished the feeling of someone listening.

"You look exquisite, child." The matriarch of House Tyrell greeted. "The wind has been at you, though. I haven't had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding, horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing? As if men need more reasons to fear marriage." She finished as she fixed the necklace Ser Dontos gave to her.

Sansa decided that Lady Olenna was the kindest person at the wedding, and that she wasn't sure she'd want her to leave.

"My lady. My lady." Tyrion greeted as he joined, walking to take his seat next to Sansa.

"Lord Tyrion, you see? Not as bad as all that." Olenna gestured to the feast while also referencing his concern towards the cost of such an expenditure. Turning back to Sansa, "Perhaps if your pauper husband were to sell his mule and his last pair of shoes, he might be able to afford to bring you to Highgarden for a visit. Now that peace has come and all is right with the world, it would do you good to see some of it." She smiled at the girl before excusing herself. "You must excuse me. It's time I ate some of this food I paid for."

Ulvar had disguised himself well, he had dressed as one of the servants and none had looked at him twice. He felt as if he were a spy, listening in on all the court gossip; the Queen Regent's accusal of Lady Brienne's ability to turncoat, Cersei's then threat towards the Grand Maester, and the underlying threats Ser Jaime laid in jovial conversation with the Knight of Flowers. A hotbed of politics indeed.

His job was to get a message to Ellaria, seeing as it was unlikely that she would be followed, but that was proving hard. Ellaria stayed close to Oberyn and the two of them didn't wander far from public view.

And just as he thought he would get a chance, the Lannisters approached.

"You're in a rather good mood." Lord Tywin observed his daughter.

"I suppose I am."

"I won't ask why."

"Small pleasures." She replied with a smirk.

"Your Grace. Lord Tywin." Oberyn greeted, plucking a grape from one of the vines on the table.

"Prince Oberyn." Tywin was civil and Cersei said nothing.

"I don't believe you have met Ellaria. This is the Lord Hand Tywin Lannister, and Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent. I suppose it is former Queen Regent now. Lord Hand and Lady Cersei, Ellaria Sand."He introduced.

"My lord. My lady." Ellaria smiled at the two.

"Charmed."

"Can't say I've ever met a Sand before." Cersei announces.

The politeness between the group drops. Cersei and Ellaria share challenging stares and both men glance towards each other in the question of whether or not they should reign their counterparts in.

"We are everywhere in Dorne. I have ten thousand, brothers and sisters." Ellaria responds coyly.

"Bastards are born of passion, aren't they? We don't despise them in Dorne." Oberyn remarked hinting at what everyone knew.

"No? How tolerant of you." Cersei sneered back.

"I expect it is a relief, Lady Cersei, giving up your regal responsibilities. Wearing the crown for so many years must have left your neck a bit crooked."

"I suppose you'll never know, Prince Oberyn. It's a shame your older brother couldn't attend the wedding. Please give him our regards."

"With any luck, the gout will abate with time and he will be able to walk again." Tywin continued in his civility. Dorne had been one of the only lands untouched by the war and the Lord Hand knew that this long standing feud would breed disaster.

"They call it the rich man's disease. A wonder you don't have it."

"Noblemen in my part of the country don't enjoy the same lifestyle as our counterparts in Dorne."

"People everywhere have their differences. In some places, the highborn frown upon those of low birth. In other places, the rape and murder of women and children is considered distasteful." Oberyn paused and almost smiled at his point had been made. "What a fortunate thing for you, former Queen Regent, that your daughter Myrcella has been sent to live in the latter sort of place."

It was now more pertinent than ever to find that lost Dornish girl. Prince Oberyn was more than willing to send threats over a 17 year old grudge, and with the King's own sister in their care.... Tyrion better locate the girl. Doran wouldn't want to start a war, Tywin was sure, but Oberyn had always been half-mad.

It should only be fair that they each have hostages.

As the guests watched the mock play of the War of the Five Kings, Ulvar took his chance. 'Accidentally' bumping into Ellaria on her way back to Oberyn's side.

"You should watch where you are going in such a place, many of these fine ladies would have you imprisoned for such a mistake." She started before recognizing who she spoke to.

"My apologies, my Lady. It will never happen again." He smiled at her. Ulvar had almost forgotten what it was like to see a familiar face. The belief that everything would be alright and that they would make it home safe flooded his system.

The relief that took hold of Ellaria's face was brief and almost immediately replaced with concern.

Knowing that the wheels were already turning and there were questions they didn't have time to ask, Ulvar pressed the note into her palm. "Come alone, they're only tailing him."

After making sure he wasn't seen and Ellaria had made her way back to the table and an expectant Prince, Ulvar left the feast. He thanked the Gods above that he wasn't caught and had made a quick escape.

He'd make it back to Soare and Durand, greet them with his good news, and then all that was needed was to wait.


	20. 19 - The Fear of Missing Out

Ellaria had only just rejoined her lover when the feast turned sour and chaos opened its gates upon the guests. "Is it normal for them to throw digs at each other in public like this?" she wondered watching Tyrion and the boy king bicker at their high table.

She watched as the other Lannisters seated at the high tables stayed silent, listening on with disconcert as if animosity was commonplace in their meals. No one tried to butt in, change the subject, nor did any of them try to keep the feast jovial. It was clear the Lannisters only called themselves family out of obligation, not respect and certainly not love.

"Why complain when you could enjoy the show? If the lions want to eat each other alive..." Oberyn turned to her, a wide smirk imprinted on his sun kissed face. "What is that?" he asked, drawing attention to the small, crumpled note she was trying to hide.

"A message from a friend," Ellaria was too aware that alerting Oberyn of Soare's presence now would cause too much of a commotion, but she needn't worry.

"He's choking!" The Tyrell girls' voice brought the twos attention back to the centerpiece of the feast.

"Help the poor boy. Idiots, help your king." Lady Olenna commanded, full well knowing that there was no helping or reversing what was done.

Joffrey stumbled aimlessly in front of the high table, clawing at his throat, desperate for air. As his nails raked bloody trails along his neck, his face turned hideous, sickening shades of purple and his throat closed tighter than a fist.

Everyone watched in horror as he fell and started spewing bile. Kingsguard rushing forward, the wails of a mother, and the gurgeled last breaths of a king.

Over the noise of Cersei's screeches for Tyrion's imprisonment, Oberyn peiced the puzzle together. "The Strangler," he murmured. "Someone just killed the king."

Oberyn himself had come here to kill a great golden pillar of the Westerlands' strength, he had been prepared for conviction and trial. The death of a Lannister was an occasion worthy of years planning; it appeared as though someone else has similar ideas. The wrong lion dying had put a cog in he and Doran's well-oiled machine.

"Poison? You know they'll blame you first, lover." Concern laced within her words, and this time for more than just Oberyn.

"Everyone here has the means to procure the Strangler," he waived off her concern, having already felt it himself. "Some even have the motive; but who has the cunning to orchestrate such a plan?" Oberyn mused, he was quite impressed with the plot. Whoever did kill the boy had done it in such a way that there were numerous easy targets for suspects and all and any allegations wouldn't be much more than hearsay.

**~'~**

It was easy for Ulvar to sneak out of the palace unnoticed; everyone was far too busy rushing in to see him slipping out. Though he knew two of the serving girls had looked at him funny, and that certainly hadn't helped his blood pressure.

It was then with blood pumping in his ears and anxiety burrowing a whole in his gut, that Ulvar decided he wasn't the man for stealth missions. Sure he had surprisingly no problems infiltrating, it was the getting out that worried him. He wanted to run, no _fly_ at the speed of sound in the opposite direction of the Keep. It was taking nearly everything he had to _calmly_ exit the feast and the walls of the castle, so he tried focusing on the people in front of him rather than those with swords behind him.

But what was the commotion all about? He didn't know, and he surely wasn't going to draw attention to himself by asking. He was far too hyper aware of how one misstep could lead to his imprisonment and the potential deaths of his friends. If running would make him look suspicious, then surely his dornish draw wouldn't help.

_Was it something to do with the wedding? Had Prince Oberyn gotten their message and done something rash?_

Questions; Ulvar always had questions, most of which went unheard or unanswered. Still he dared not think of what laid behind him. If it was something to do with the wedding, then it was highborn business and no concern of his. And he had no doubt Prince Oberyn was too smart a man to give away any ulterior motives in front of such an audience.

His mind quieted and his heart calmed as the streets drew narrower, if he dared himself to look back he would see that he had put safe enough distance between the Keep and his path. Ulvar thanked the Gods that he didn't hear the obvious sound of chainmail, nor that of uniform footfalls.

Walking back towards their hideout, he could hear the opinion of the people. He couldn't tell if what had happened was good or bad, it all seemed relative. Reactions changed person to person: some people wailed as if they'd lost a child, some gave drunken toasts and hollered in delight, but most of them shared a disconnected grimace.

It was only when he had made it back to the tavern and his companions upstairs that he had learned of the regicide that he had missed. His friends filled him in on the noisy chatter and gossip from the tavern patrons below, granted it was really just Durand doing the talking.

"The Lannisters suffered their first blow and I missed it?" Durand grunted.

"But how do people know that it was poison? How do people even know that he died already? I mean I was just there and I didn't even know."

"Cersei arrested the Imp. I don't imagine he's very gifted with a sword." Some of Rand's infamous snark had returned, all he needed was a dead Lannister for his spirits to return. "Do you know what this means?" He asked, turning to the other man in the room.

"... That the Lannisters hate each other as much as everyone else does?" Confusion evident in the Sands voice.

"Well, yes, but that's not what I was getting at. I was going to say-"

"The lions have more than us to worry about." Soare made her first contribution since Ulvar's return.

"Someone else wants to bring them to heel. The Imp didn't do it, that's far too obvious. And we know we didn't do it, so...the Lannisters have more enemies and we have more allies." Rand announced with a smirk.

"If only we knew who they were."

In some other part of the city a fool had saved a maiden fair. The weary and frightened red-head was running for her life, having near to no clue what had just been done to free her, nor what or who was about to trap her.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe"

Almost out of breath and on the verge of unknown panic, she put her misguided trust in the former knight leading her. If only she'd known of her other option. Afterall, she was still just a pawn in someone else's play for the great game.

**_We're all liars here_ **


	21. 20 - King's Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// mention of r*pe

**_What makes a good King? What is a good king's single most important quality?_ **

**_Holiness?_ **

A young man lay on display, draped in shrouds and the dim lighting of the Great Sept he was so recently married in. A cruel boy, lacking in love, compassion, and reason. But the glimmer of power, the chance of the Throne corrupts even the best, the brightest, and the young all alike.

Arrangements are already being made for the next King, another bastard in buck's clothing. A boy far younger than the other and kinder, more naive, more giving. The unassuming nature of such a king breeding a war of wits, whose claws can reach bone and claim ownership.

After all the game of thrones is not one of compassion and trust, is it?

**_Baelor the Blessed was holy. And pious. He built this sept._ **

Joffrey Baratheon was a boy most would say deserved his death. He was cruel, unreasoned, and treated people poorly. An unruly, spoilt brat who had no real power besides his birthright, no real sense of rule besides that done from his respective Hands.

Perhaps he deserved to die, but man was not made to play God. And mothers have no choice in weeping for their sons.

Cersei was not the greatest of women, less yet the greatest of people. A case could be made for her parenting, but no one could deny that she cares for her children first in this world. She would do anything for her cubs: lie, cheat, steal, and undoubtedly kill.

She knew this day would come and yet she thought it never would. Power makes you believe that you're important, that the Gods favor you, and that you can change or cheat your fate. Alas, the frog woman from the woods a long time ago had been right afterall; gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds. Joffrey was only the first of her children, she hoped the next would not follow him so quickly.

What was a mother without her child? Broken. Defeated. Enraged.

The lioness had no time for feeble bodied tears, no time for weakness; she chose anger, hatred. It was him, it was her scrawny, mangled, heathen little brother that caused her this loss. It had to be. She could think of no one else who had envied her, rivalled her, and threatened her with such vigor. Tyrion had killed their mother, mocked their house with his existence, and now he had killed her son.

The northern whore had gone missing and her beautiful boy used his last breath to point out his killer, what other proof could she need? It boiled her blood how Jaime didn't understand, how could he not see it as clearly as she did? Why was he still protecting that gremlin of a man? Why couldn't he just choose her?

She had never needed Tyrion, so why did Jaime?

**_He also named a six-year-old boy high septon because he thought the boy could work miracles. He ended up fasting himself into an early grave because food was of this world and this world was sinful._ **

And like most of their reconciliation, a lover tried to quiet the grief-stricken, hateful mind of his sister in the only way he knew how.

In the tomb of Kings, surrounded by no one but the corpse of their first boy.

**_Justice._ **

**_A good king must be just._ **

An unlikely pair make their way across the war zones; a girl who pretended to be a boy and a man pretending to be a mindless dog. They had been travelling for awhile, going east, coming across groups of soldiers on occasion.

The girl had taken blood again, it'd been awhile since the first, but this was purposeful. The Freys had killed the Young Wolf and all their men had boosted as such, but the North remembers and Arya Stark isn't a little girl anymore.

The two had stopped somewhere near the outskirts of Fairmarket to water the horses. Though neither of them were completely sure of their location due to travelling solely on the Hound's instincts and without a map.Their current goal was the Vale. More specifically, the girl's rich aunt in charge of it's capital. Lysa Arryn nee Tully had _managed_ to stay neutral during this dwindling war of the five kings, her lands untouched by war or the battles fought.

As much the man had claimed to have been doing this all for a great reward, his travelling companion was becoming more than just a task to him. She was still a child and asked far too many questions for his like, but he's grown to put her company above most everyone else he's met.

**_Orys I was just._ **

Arya picked up her rounds of questioning out of boredom, who else was she to talk to? She asked the Hound of his plans after his ransom was met, mindlessly picking and nimbling on some small radishes she'd found. Perhaps the once famed Hound would become a sellsword across the sea, join the Second Sons. The girl also had ideas of booking passage; she wouldn't gold nor silver to make her way to Braavos, a friend had given her a Valyrian phrase and an old coin to get her there.

An old man and his daughter had interrupted their musings. He offered them greetings and informed the two that they were indeed on his land.Before the meeting could become hostile, the clever girl had introduced them as a father and daughter fleeing the fight. She begged the man's pardon over her 'father', claiming he'd been wounded in the war and that their house had burned down taking her mother with it. The old man had offered them his hospitality after hearing that they'd fought for the Tullys.

Arya was smart to bend her truth into their lies. She and the Hound were fleeing the Red Wedding and the last of her house did burn up in a fire, but instead of brick and mortar it had been flesh and blood. Truthful lies had gotten them their first real meal in what had felt like ages.

**_Everyone applauded his reforms. Nobles and commoners alike._ **

"Did you fight at the Twins?" The farmer man had asked over their bowls of rabbit stew.

"Call that a fight?" the Hound had scoffed in reply. "Slaughtering livestock more like."

"The Red Wedding, they're calling it." The man continued. "Walder Frey committed sacrilege that day. He shared bread and salt with the Starks. He offered them guest right." It was clear that the man was appalled by his new liege lord's actions, each of his thoughts having struck accord with the girl across the table from him whose family it had been.

The Hound had made a point of how the world was far different than it had been, common courtesies just didn't mean anything anymore.

The farmer could only disagree on his own account, knowing that most of the good men in charge of these lands had long since died. "Things were different when Hoster Tully ruled the Riverlands. We had good years and bad years, same as anyone, but we were safe. Now with the Freys, raiders come plundering, steal our food, steal our silver. I was gonna send Sally north to stay with my brother, but the North's no better. The whole country's gone sour."

**_But he wasn't just for long._ **

**_He was murdered in his sleep after less than a year by his own brother._ **

The next morning Arya had woken up to the shriek of the farmer's daughter, rushing outside to see the man on the ground and her Hound walking away with a pouch full of silver. She was angry and confused, just the night before the Hound had agreed to offer his services and now he was acting like the thief he claimed not to be.

Sandor Clegane had lived in this world longer than she, he knew what it took to survive and understood the ways things worked more than she did as well. Westeros tended to be a harsh and unfair land, now more than ever. Both the farmer and his daughter were weak, neither could defend themselves; they'd be dead by winter.

**_Was that truly just of him?_ **

**_To abandon his subjects to an evil that he was too gullible to recognize?_ **

**_What about strength?_ **

If you ever needed an example of strong will, I'd advise you look no further than Dragonstone. Sure the second born of House Baratheon had lost his latest battle, had lost a great deal of his men and his ships, and had lost his brother due to the infighting and witchcraft he'd been yolkled into. But his will is strong as ever.

It was some nights ago that his Red Woman had 'cleansed' their ranks of non-believers, and somehow the man stood undeterred, unquestioning in his choices. He had long ago adopted a new faith, renouncing that of the seven pointed star in favor of a burning heart, the Red God or the fire god R'hllor. Melisandre had burnt those of his supporters that refused to accept her god of Essos and Asshai, one of which had been his wife's brother, they burned all the same.

His actions or more so Melisandre's hand in his actions and credence were losing him men and ships quickly. But Stannis was not a man of compromise, he stood strong on his beliefs and his dictations no matter how wrong they may turn out to be.

He was a law man, strictly principled. He wasn't the type of man to tuck tail and run, he wasn't a coward, and he'd never be one to surrender. He was often cold and seemingly uncaring, he did things out of necessity and need, emotion was nothing more than irrational thought. He believed that people have destinies, ones that they didn't choose, but that everyone must do their duty.

**_Yes. Strength. King Robert was strong._ **

**_He won the rebellion and crushed the Targaryen dynasty._ **

Stannis now had proof that Melisandre's god had not left him, the bastard boy who stole his throne lay dead. He'd remembered vividly how three leeches burned as he named three thieves. There was Power in King's blood after all; two usurpers were now dead and the third was sure on it's way. He'd seen something, was shown something in the flames, he could no longer hold doubts over his Red Woman.

His only problem is that he had barely any ships, and less than half the men left to his cause. Most of the houses that would have sided with him turn away at the sight and the stories of the growing cult of Melisandre. Even his own bannermen, the Lords of the Stormlands had mostly abandoned him.

A man who came from nothing, a former smuggler out of Fleabottom, was the only voice of reason. He saw his King, his friend fall to the witchcraft of this red god. Watched as this red woman held Stannis' ear based on prophecies and visions she herself barely understood. He knew that a good deal of Stannis' remaining men believed that the red woman whispered orders and Stannis obeyed. The woman birthed demons and burned men alive, for the Gods' sake.

**_And he attended three small council meetings in 17 years._ **

But Davos was a loyal man. He trusted his King, he believed in him, he knew Stannis to be a good and honest man; he'd make promises and he'd keep them. Stannis would make a better King than those Westeros had over the last forty years at least. He wasn't gentle or overly compassionate, but he cared; he once said that he'd make his enemies pay for making Westeros bleed.

With Joffrey dead and Tommen not yet crowned, Stannis had the best opportunity to take the Throne. He wanted to press his claim before it would be forgotten and only known to Maester's and their history books. He needed ships and he needed men to do so and the kind of numbers he needed would not come to him willingly. If he could not get men to join him, then he would need coin and coin he did not have.

**So, we have a man who starves himself to death, a man who lets his own brother murder him, and a man who thinks that winning and ruling are the same thing.**

Luckily for the last remaining Baratheon, he had a man who knew the world outside of Westeros. The onion knight knew where they could get ships, where they could buy men from, and exactly where they might earn a loan. The Iron Throne had been in debt for some time, money was owed and none had returned the investments. It was time the Iron Bank of Braavos considered a new King.

**_What do they all lack?_ **

**_Wisdom._ **

Dimly lit and heavily incensed, where else would you expect to find the second Prince of Dorne? The rooms of the brothel Oberyn and Ellaria had rented were scarcely silent; there was always someone doing _something_ in them, usually _multiple_ someones. On this occasion it was five; two women attended to Ellaria while Oberyn had set his attentions on the precuer, Olyvar. Whatever conversations they were having about preferences and age were sidelined upon the arrival of Lord Tywin.

"Prince Oberyn." All heads turned towards the intruder and his guards, the whores frozen in their actions.

"Lord Tywin." The man in question acknowledged from underneath his paramour, slightly disgruntled from the interruption.

"May we have the room?" Tywin's question was more of a demand. Olyvar was the quickest to move from the Prince's side and exit the room. The two previously frozen girls hot on his heels, sheepishly leaving the scene. With a sigh and a nod of approval, Ellaria left as well with the promise of being nearby if she was needed, though she knew there was somewhere else she was needed.

**_Wisdom is what makes a good king._ **

The conversation between Oberyn and Tywin was not overtly hostile nor was it pleasant, but if you listened and watched closely you could read into the threatening way both men spoke to each other.

"Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capitol, an expert in poisoning, some days later my grandson dies of poisoning. Rather suspicious." Tywin knew that Oberyn was indeed a dangerous man, but he also knew that he was a man too intelligent to murder someone so publicly and in such a manner that would make him an obvious suspect.

Oberyn realised full well why they were having this conversation, the great Lord Lannister needed something of him. He was sure that there would be some arrangement proposed by the end of this meeting.

"She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you." Oberyn stated, returning to the subject he had spoken to Tyrion on after first having arrived in King's Landing.

"Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?"

The two mentally circled each other, swapping roles of cat and mouse. Each taking turns on what battles they wished to fight and which they'd drop by the wayside.

**_But what is wisdom?_ **

"You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that.

I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow."

Tywin had answered with the same excuse he had used for years.

"So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?"

"Categorically"

They exchanged hard looks at one another, both aware of the truth Tywin would never admit.

Tywin was not in the position he had wished to be in at this point.He had planned on negotiating with Doran Martell not Oberyn and he had hoped to have the Martell girl in his care by now. He will have to settle for the cards that he did have to play: justice that they both knew would not come freely nor openly and a seat on the small council.

"The King is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the east, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros."

He had always planned on getting Dorne to rejoin the fold, they would need to know how Dorne had stayed unconquered seeing as a Targaryen half-way across the world has seemingly raised dragons from the dead.

"You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit."

**_How do you know which choice is wise and which isn't?_ **

It had been two days since the royal wedding and the death of the king. They'd heard nothing new about the murder other than that there would be a trial for the Imp. They'd also received nothing from Ellaria nor Soare's father, they were confined to wait.

Ulvar and Durand had both agreed to take shifts; one of them would hover around the street corner they chose as a meeting place and the other would stay and guard Soare.

It had been mid-day and Ulvar was still trying his best to get a conversation out of Soare, though his efforts turned more so to him talking to himself.

"What do you think is the first thing you'll do when we get home?"

He shifted his eyes from their pensive watch over the streets through the window to the sullen girl sitting on the edge of the straw bed. Barely a twitch registered from her stance, she had been unresponsive to all of his attempts. But he had to try. He missed the spunky and coy girl he had ridden into war with, all of it feeling like a lifetime ago.

Upon the usual no response, he continued on by himself. "I think I'll visit my mother first, I have no doubts she misses me." His eyes glimmering with hope and the nostalgia for a home he'd long been without; he could almost smell his mother's cooking, burnt bread and all. "I'll be glad to be back under the sun, that's for sure, all these furs are getting itchy." He mocks a scratch at his neck, as if he were still wearing the Northern furs they had long discarded near the God's Eye.

Still nothing, his eyes dimming at the thought of another unsuccessful attempt. So he tried a different approach, "I should think you'd like to be back in the Water Gardens; training with your sisters, scheming with Arianne-"

"What I wouldn't like is to be constantly reminded how I got my best friend _killed_ , to be haunted in that place by her memory. To have to live with the fact that I'm nowhere _near_ as good a fighter as them, that Nym was right and I've just always been _weak_. That I've _sullied_ my father's house, that I _couldn't_ protect myself, that I _let those men-_ "

Her unused voice hoarse, the alluring drawl of her Dornish accent seemingly dull and hollow. Her eyes quick to brim with unshed tears; the outburst a result of having bottled the trauma down to nothing. Her chest heaving as she spat out each word, each sentence feeling heavier than the last. All of it just made her angry, spiraling down a dark hole of self insisted failure. The heat of it boiling her down to tears; hot, heavy, angry, and worthless tears.

Ulvar was not expecting an outburst like this, he just wanted to get a rise out of her some small sign that Soare was still in there. No, he was hoping for a laugh or even just the smallest of smiles. The melancholy and despair of where they had been and what they had witnessed came rushing back to Ulvar, no longer thinking about his mother and kind thoughts of home. No, he was wrapped up in how broken Soare was. He had known that something had happened that night and Durand nor the Princess in question would talk about it, he hadn't known how bad it'd been.

**_A wise king knows what he knows and what he doesn't._ **

How useless he had felt, all he could do was hold her and thank the gods that at least she was talking and wasn't holding everything in anymore. He held his friend close, not saying a word as he cradled her, letting her shaking and exhausted form to try and find some rest.

And that was how a confused and worried Durand found them. A motherly worry coming over the Dornish woman whom trailed close behind. Ellaria looked over the scene of a now much thinner and paler Soare curled up in the arms of a hardened Ulvar, jaw set tight against the world. The tear tracks evident on both their faces.


	22. 21 - A Mother's Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// 
> 
> mention of r*pe, suicidal thoughts

I don't remember falling asleep, it must have been after I cracked just a little in front of Ulvar. I didn't mean to, to expose all that I had; dornish women are meant to be strong, the blood of the viper even more so. I hadn't wanted to unburden myself, I'd rather keep the events of that night bottled up and sealed tight. I told Rand to never ask me about it ever again and I meant that. No one ever needs to know how big a failure I'd become. And I had failed at keeping my tarnished reputation to myself.

I hadn't gotten much sleep these days in any case; I didn't like being vulnerable and unaware of my surroundings. Any time I lost the battle with my eyelids a whole war started again in my dreams. They weren't dreams really, more like night terrors. Dramatic and violent retellings of that night and all I had lost in those fires; things I would rather not ever see again.

I had those same dreams again last night, only awakening after crueler versions of my father and Doran had told me that I had truly failed them and that I was nothing more than a liability, a weakness they couldn't afford.

My throat felt thick and grougy and my eyes bleary with sleep and dried tears crusted in the corners. All my mornings were sore and sour, but I hadn't been as scared I was when I opened my eyes.

I was somewhere new. It wasn't the shabby apartment above the tavern, it wasn't dull grays and beiges, and the bed wasn't straw. I figured it best to learn my surroundings before alerting anyone elses that may be in the room that I was awake.

It was late morning or maybe midday, it was hard to tell exactly the light source from the grand windows being skewered by drapes. The bed I presumably slept on was plush and wrapped in fine silk with a dozen throw pillows lying about. The room smelled of musk, candles, and the slightest touch of incense.

I was in a brothel, a whorehouse. Panic sank in fast, the thought that I had been captured and sold off as a bed slave drove chills down my spine.

My heavy breathing must have alerted someone, hearing footfalls coming my direction. I chose to stay put, clenching my eyes shut and my fingers wind themselves tight in the sheets.

"Oh, thank Gods you're up. Ellaria's been pacing for the last two hours."

I let go of a shaky breath and slowly opened my eyes towards Rand's familiar voice. I pulled myself up to a sitting position slowly, catching the weary and concerned once over he had given me.

"Where are we?" my question came out as a croak, my throat feeling dryer than the red dunes. Rand was quick to pour me a glass of water and I gratefully accepted.

"Ellaria had finally come to the meeting spot yesterday, I had brought her back to the tavern and you were deathly asleep, almost unconscious. Ulvar had only said that he got you to talk a little. She brought us back here." He laid out everything in the near day that she had slept.

"I hear talking, does that mean she's awake?" Ellaria's slim figure glided herself into the room, a motherly frown imprinted on her face. Her smooth accent thick with concern, "Sweetheart, look what they've done to you." She rushed over to stroke a hand through my tangled curls, her warm brown eyes meeting my hollow ones.

She sounded like home and she looked exactly as how she was when I'd left, like an innocent and naive past. And just then I felt the need to break, to tell her all my trouble or nothing at all and just weep for hours.

"Alright boys," she turned to Rand and Ulvar, who had been standing in the corner of the room near the doorway. "Time to go. We're going to get you into a nice warm bath and some fresh clean clothes. I'm sure your father won't mind if you borrow one of his tunics."

She continued to shoo the boys out of the room before shutting the doors and having me follow her into a connecting room that had a porcelain tub already filled with warm water.

"I don't know what it was like out there, and I don't know what you saw or experienced. I'm not expecting you to tell me everything and I'd be okay if you didn't want to say anything at all." She reached out and squeezed my hand, her eyes warm and cautious. "We're only going to do what you're comfortable with, okay?"

Ellaria had understood that there were going to be some details left out, some things that might never get said. She knew that sometimes you go out into the world, it shows you things, and you might never come back the same from them.

She knew this because she'd known Oberyn. She remembered how different he had been from the cocky Prince who strutted around the Old Palace to when he returned to Dorne after _Elia_ ,with a newborn and a casket. Witnessing a birth and a death in the same moment and returning to save a sister who you find to have been brutalized and killed had changed him. There were things about that journey and the YiTish woman that he hadn't told her and she imagined he never would.

With a nod of my head, she undid the ties to my cloak. "Oberyn won't be back for another hour or two. He really wanted to see you when we brought you back, and believe me it took convincing to get him to give you space. I'm not sure it'll be the same story now that you're up. But I knew he couldn't see you like this, it might break him. And well I miss my girls, so I hope you don't mind if I bathe you like when you were little."

I let her do most of the talking because that's what I was comfortable with, and I knew that she knew it too. She never pushed and I was grateful for that.

It was easy to shrug off a cloak, to kick off worn in boots, and peel back thick socks. It was the removal of the dress that made me fidgety.

Don't get me wrong, I never wanted to see this dress again. The first day I'd worn this dress guest right was forcibly broken and a lot of good men lost their lives. Elyane died while I wore this dress. I was... those men... This dress has done nothing for me but fill my head with horrors. I should like to burn it.

But there's just a chemise and skin underneath it, and I wasn't sure I could lie when my flesh was evidence.

Blame a mother's intuition, but Ellaria sensed it. "I don't have to be here for the rest. I could leave, or turn around and just come back when you're finished and comb your hair. I could-"

"I don't want to be alone," quiet and shaky, afraid to admit the words themselves. I stared down into the tiled floor, I knew she heard me, I just couldn't meet her gaze. I was trying to hold myself together in some show of attempted strength; I didn't want to break down again, I could crumble when I left this place and returned to the yellows and burnt oranges of home.

"What do you want me to do?" say what you want about her but Ellaria was a great mother when she wanted to be; she was as tender and caring as she was fiery.

"Help me get this off," I sniffled tugging on the sleeves of what used to be a beautiful dress. "I'm scared."

She paused, removing her hands from the strings at the back of the bodice, "What are you scared of? You know your father won't let anything happen to you."

But it already had happened. And the steam and oils of a bath couldn't change that, but they might make it easier to hide.

"I'm scared you'll judge me. That everyone will treat me different. I won't be able to lie when you see me." It was easier to be truthful when she was behind me without her eyes staring into me, trying to read the words I wasn't saying.

"I'll make you a promise then. Whatever I see will stay within this room, okay? I won't tell a soul. The truth of what you're hiding will be your choice to give out."

She'd probably tell my father something, she had too, but I wouldn't have much choice in him knowing anyways.

Ellaria was family, she cared for me and she has tried to be a mother to me. She won't hurt me. I can trust her. I just have to get through these next few days and then we can all go home.

She was waiting patiently for my response, I know. I decided that she wasn't someone I had to fear. Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I pulled the left sleeve as it had losend from the bodice. Ellaria followed suit, returning to pulling at the laces of the dress.

The first second that the thick woolen northern dress had hit the floor, I felt like I could breath as if the dress had weighed down my lungs. And the very next moment I felt I was suffocating. Drowning in someone's gaze.

And here it is, my disgrace out in the open.

Ellaria was silent, I guess she wasn't sure what to say. She could see them. The cuts and scrapes from me wildly slashing my dagger around and it having been turned against me. The crescent shaped indents of men's ruff nails digging in as they pleased. The numerous and often large bruising that ran down my arms and legs; bruises that mostly had only just started to yellow. The worst was the brown stains on my chemise around the edges and the middle.

I regret this. I should have told her to leave. I don't want anyone seeing me like this. I don't want anyone seeing me. I don't want to see me.

The silence is deafening. I can't stand the sound of my breathing, my heartbeat in my ears; I don't want my thoughts to catch up with me. I don't need reminders of that night, of what I couldn't stop.

I'm shaking and my knees are getting weak, I can feel my resolve breaking. My eyes are glued to the floor, glancing around for some sort of out, an escape that I just can't find.

And finally noise. Ellaria sucked in a breath after a long and uncomfortable silence. "Alright, honey, just one more and we're going to get you all cleaned up okay?"

I could hear the tears in her voice, whether they left the pools of her eyes or not.

My breathing heavied as I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly pushing the straps of my undergarment down my arms. The once cream colored silk falling to meet the tarnished dress before it.

Ellaria slid around me to meet my eyes, she ran her hands up and down my arms. I felt like someone was standing on my chest, trying to cave in my ribs. I couldn't breathe. My eyes were getting heavy and the world was getting spotty and dimmer and dimmer.

**_I don't want to be here_ **

**_I don't want to be here_ **

**_I don't want to be here_ **

**_I don't want to be_** me

"Breathe. Take a deep breath, okay. Don't hyperventilate on me now." she was crying now, silent but steady tears. "In....and out. In....and out. In......and out." she mimicked, getting me to breath with her.

I think I was crying too.

Despite my inner turmoil, my lungs took in air. Laboured breaths evened. I finally met Ellaria's eyes, worried and red with tears. She'd been holding me up from the brink of collapse.

If I can't hide it from her, there's no way I won't break in front of Father.

"I see you. I _know_ that's scary right now and I'm sure you feel some sort of shame. And that is _okay_ , whatever your feeling is valid. But _none_ of what happened, however it happened or whatever happened is your fault."

"I don't want to talk about-" horace and weak were my words, just like myself. I should have died at the Twins, it would have been better for everyone.

"I _see_ you and I _love you_." her warm words cut me off. She wouldn't let me leave from her grip. It wasn't her hands or her arms holding me there but her eyes, speaking things her words just couldn't capture. She saw me and could make a clear assumption of what had happened, but she loved me just the same.

She wanted to hug me I'm sure, pull me in tight and never let go. I silently thanked her for not acting on impulse; I don't think I want that level of contact yet.

"Now, let's get you in this tub before the water goes cold."

I let her guide me in, the heat of the water stinging just for a moment. She took a sponge and filled it with soaps, working on my arms first. Besides the dirt and grime under my nails, it wasn't the dirtiest place on me; It was just the ones she knew I was comfortable with being touched.

"Can I tell you about the girls?"

I nodded, watching the steam rise and the grey-brown droplets of water slip off my arms as she worked.

"My girls miss you, you know that. Loree and Dorea miss their nightly stories, and they're quick to tell your father and I how much we pale in comparison." A light smile on her face, no doubt thinking of one of the twos hissy fits over the change in narrator. "Rea has chosen a morningstar as her preferred weapon. I still think she's a little too young for it, but you all inherited the inability to take no as an answer from your father."

She cautiously started scrubbing at my back, waiting to see if I backed off or shuddered in discomfort. I stiffened but nodded for her to continue anyway.

"What about El and Bella? Still glued to each other's hip?" Ellaria was doing a fine job of distracting me and I truly did miss my sisters.

"Somewhat. Obella has outgrown the stables, so El's all alone there now. I worry for her; Oberyn has a hard time dealing with her and she'd rather talk to her horses than me." She sighed. "How did you ever get through to that girl?"

I understood little Elia more than anyone ever could. We both remind our father of someone he'd lost, someone he couldn't save. No matter what we did, their memory would always be there first. And the last thing we'd ever want to do is bring our father pain; that's why I don't ask about my mother and it's why Elia stays away if she can.

"She doesn't like seeing father hurt. And you know how everyone gets about that name. She just wants him to look at her for her, and not see everything that happened to Elia..." he'd see that when he looked at me now too. He'd see me in this state, see what happened to me, what happened to Elia; he'd never look at me the same. Scars of the past that were now inflicted on his present; another one of the women he loved that he just couldn't save.

Ellaria felt the shift in my mood; the realisation that father would not handle things in the same grace that she had. She was just about finished combing the tangles out of my unkempt curls. She didn't want to linger on whatever familiar or dark thoughts that were going through my mind but she also wanted to make sure that I was heard, even if I didn't say it.

She slid around the side of the tub, my legs were the only part left to clean. I was frightened and unsure and she could tell. Starting at my ankles, "This is okay?"

My fingers gripped tight to the lip of the tub and my jaw slowly wound itself tight with the grit of my teeth, I nodded.

"Are you sure? Because I don't have to-"

"I don't trust myself to do it without breaking down or doing something rash." I caught her gaze, the worry in them growing stronger. "Just distract me, please?" My voice is softer and pleading. I averted my sight from what she was doing, watching the discolored water instead. What was once clear, now growing cloudy and murky with the shades of my failures.

"Well, Sarella is on one of her adventures again. I'm not sure where this time, I think she had just come back from Tyrosh when she took off again."

The water dribbled and splashed as she rang out the sponge, soaking it back in sudsy water. She was at my knees.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded again for her to continue, with eyes screwed shut.

"Tyene has perfected her knowledge of poisons; Oberyn's very proud, now the two of them can sceam together. Nym and Obara are still married to the training grounds as always. They got your letters you know," She sighed, taking my hand. "You have to do the rest on your own. You have to face this,"

I opened my eyes, looking her over, her face was kind and her eyes radiated warm encouragement.

She handed me the sponge, "You can do this. Admit it to yourself, it's the only way you can heal." She squeezed my hand in support. "You know your father will want your words over his guesses. After that... you can tell whatever story you want or none at all, and I'll support you the whole way. I'm just going to grab a few towels and some spare clothes, I'll be right back."

And she left. She was still nearby, I could hear the clicking of her shoes.

It was quiet, still, too devoid of noise. My fist squeezed the sponge, bubbles of soap spilling over my knuckles. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew what happened. I was raped by at least eight men. I was held down. _Pushed_ down. I fought every second that I could; not all the blood on that dress was mine. They took me, but I did not go gently. And at the end of it, I had lived and they did not.

I couldn't stay in this tub forever; I took the sponge and did what needed to be done.

Ellaria had knocked and slid back into the room just as I had watched the last of the cracked and caked dried blood melt away from my thighs.

I wasn't healed of it entirely, I knew that. I was still jumpy when Ellaria had wrapped a towel around me after I'd exited the tub. And I didn't expect that to go away anytime soon. But the grime was off me, I was no longer forced to wake in a sheet of the vividness of the crime. It may hold my mind, but it could no longer touch my skin.

Ellaria helped me dress in a tunic and trousers she'd stolen from my father's trunk. It felt like armour; swimming in a layer of protection that could only come in the form of citrus, spice, and sandalwood. It smelled of home and felt like the comfort of his tight embrace.

I could only hope that I was ready to recount everything that had happened. I know how much the not knowing ate him up inside, how the rumours did nothing of solace and only pushed him further toward seeking vengeful truth. Father would want to know everything those men had said, he'd want their names if I could give it.

Ellaria tried to console me or keep me busy, but that didn't stop me from waiting for him to return from whatever business he had.

I never imagined that I'd be so nervous, so agitated to see my father. I wished this could have been a happy reunion. But the Gods are cruel, aren't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some soft mom ellaria content
> 
> this is the beginning of the healing process for soare, its not all going to be perfect and its not all going to be good or healthy


End file.
